


The Seven Who Are One

by ilikeblue, Ro_Nordmann



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst and Romance, BAMF Brienne of Tarth, Brienne The Warrior's Chosen One, Brienne of Tarth wants to save Westeros and a golden knight, Demon Cersei Lannister, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Forced Companionship, Friends to Lovers, Good vs Evil, Jaime looking for redemption, Possessed Cersei, Possessive Jaime, Robert is a pig, Slow Burn, Supernatural Elements, The Darkness wants to own Jaime Lannister, Unresolved Sexual Tension, brienne and jaime - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2020-10-05 18:59:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 18
Words: 88,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20493683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilikeblue/pseuds/ilikeblue, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ro_Nordmann/pseuds/Ro_Nordmann
Summary: At the start there was nothing, the emptiness had a name, a purpose.  Growing and gaining power through millennia untold. TheWarriorchose a champion, one with honor and strength to fight the all consuming darkness.   Brienne of Tarth was not supposed to be chosen. Jaime Lannister was not supposed to be saved. Together they will fight the rising enemy, stop the gathering storm. Enemies make strange bedfellows, and soulmates are found in the oddest of people. But who can argue with the whims of the gods?





	1. Prologue

In the eternity before time existed. 

Powerful. 

Silent. 

The _Void_…

An entity that encircled the sum of nothingness, that begot a maelstrom of desire, hunger and need.It was savage in its wanting.

Alone in the darkness for time unmeasured.Interlocked chasms, neither giving nor receiving. Always wanting.

Embittered with solitude, it spawned forth two others… _Father_ and _Mother_.And they in turn birthed their incarnations…_Maiden_ and _Crone_.The _Warrior_, the _Smith_ and the _Stranger_. 

Each with its own purpose, a new wheel and thread was produced that drove the fates, a new kind of species began.A new era. 

The Warrior— bolstered by his pride— sent the First Men to Westeros.Powerful beings blessed with a morsel of his strength and honor.Destined to be a Light in the Darkness. 

Centuries were meaningless to the gods, as the blight of mankind dispersed all across the lands of Westeros. Tales were passed down from the First Men of the gods that had in their wisdom brought humanity into existence. They worshiped and feared them.All but one. 

_The Void_…the first one…was pushed aside and forgotten.For who wants to worship nothing.

The Seven feared it, their creator and their curse.Its never ending hunger was oppressive.Its want incessant and smothering. Always coveting chaos and everlasting darkness.

Calling forth all the power they had amassed, bolstered by the faith of their followers, the Seven banished The Void to a gap between worlds, lurking beneath the surface, never truly gone. Its presence in the pestilence, in the fields turning fallow, in the dead of night, in deepest winter making spring an illusion, its power in the empty eyes of men fallen in battle far from home. 

It receded to the unwanted cracks of existence.The never-ending emptiness left unsatisfied. While men and women continued to fuck and fight, sin and praise, raise families, make kingdoms and create armies. 

In darkened rooms, in whispered voices some still worshiped it.There were always those who wanted greater than their share, easy to be seduced, willing to do anything.In these acolytes, the Void found kindred souls ripe for his claiming. There It planted the seeds for its army.

Let mankind grow and flourish.Let them consume the world and each other. 

What was time to nothingness?

It would wait.

And then It would feast.


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mother forgive me…  
Mother I did not know…  
Mother protect me from this evil…  
For I would rather die…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Non-Con warning - nothing too explicit on this chapter***
> 
> Thank you for reading - kudos and comments are welcome!
> 
> I want to give special thanks to sameboots and jailynnW for their encouragement and support in our co-writing endeavor.

Joanna Lannister woke with a start. Her bedclothes stuck to her skin, her legs tangled in the sheets. A suffocating feeling persisted in her chest.She opened her eyes and tried to calm her breaths. The fire in her bedchamber burned low, as she swept her legs over the side and stood on slightly shaky limbs.

It was there.The puddle of red in her sheets.The blood tracing lines down her thighs, curving around the bones of her ankles to the floor.

She was four days late this month, spending the last two evenings in the Sept at the altar of The Mother.Her knees were bruised and her eyes dry from praying for a miracle, a blessing from the goddess.That her womb would grow and she would bear the heir that was required from her. Instead, she watched the blood flow, feeling her future drain away with it. 

Tywin Lannister was not a forgiving man.And while he may love her (and despite the arranged circumstances of their marriage, she believed he did), it would not be enough to forgive her inadequacy. She had failed once more in her duty to their house, to his legacy. He would annul their union and take a younger, fruitful wife.Joanna would be left to an uncertain future, returned to her family a dishonored, barren shell of a woman, destined to die alone.

Her legs suddenly weak, she knelt by the bed pressing her face into the covers to stifle her sobs. She would find a way out of this, a way to make this right.

The alternative was unbearable.

Lord Lannister stood, his back to the bed, looking out over the grounds of Casterly Rock.His expression hard and unreadable. Behind him, a maid scurried to remove the soiled bedclothes, while his wife hovered in a corner of the room. She looked frail and broken, unable to meet his gaze. 

He was not a man of faith.As far as he was concerned the gods had never shown him any benevolence, and in turn he owed them nothing, neither his worship, nor his fear. Tywin Lannister crafted his own future, bending others until they broke. The Lannisters seemed bred to be ruthless and unreachable.Never once the ones shouldering the weight. But this…this made him feel powerless, and that was unacceptable. 

He looked at Joanna, so soft, so forgiving.He would not abandon his wife.It was the response she would expect, what any calculating Lord would do in his place.And yet he would not treat her such.

_He would fail._

He would grow old and feeble, an inconsequential Lord of a once powerful house, bereft of an heir. There would be no more _lions_ on the Rock. The name Lannister would fade to obscurity with only a few scattered cousins or nephews to weakly limp along. His legacy would die with him.

A roiling pit of anger settled in his stomach, burning him from inside. 

Tywin Lannister cursed the gods, that in their folly had denied him his patrimony.He could drag every last scrap of Lannister gold from the ground.Rage, threaten, and coerce the Westerlands into submission.And still he would be heirless.His impotence, a shackle imposed upon him, by a power that he had all but forgotten. 

_He would empty the Sept. He would smash their images and desecrate their altars.The Seven would no longer be worshiped by the Lannisters, whom they had so unceremoniously abandoned._

He was seething, staring at nothing and lost in his thoughts when a shadow in the corner of the room moved.He squinted, sure that in his anger he was mistaken.But no…it was there. Glowing eyes staring back at him from a twisting, formless darkness. 

_“Do you see?” _

The voice was a whisper and a shout.A grating growl of a noise, that should have sent a sane man running.

He looked to his wife, still sobbing, eyes lowered, blind to the danger so close.Tywin looked back to the emptiness and nodded once, a small bob of the head.His mouth a thin line, his eyes assessing.

_“You are destined for GREATNESSSSS!”_

The word expanding and stretching into a hissing sound that filled the room. 

"_It knows what you NEED, what you most desire.We can give this to you…for a price.”_

And Tywin understood, deep in his bones he felt an aching for the future he would never see.His wife happy and rounded with his seed, her life filled with love and laughter.Golden sons that would bear cubs of their own and carry on the Lannister name in glory and pride. 

_He would give anything for this…anything. _

He looked to the specter, writhing, waiting, and nodded once more.This is a price he would pay. 

Eyes blinked, the stillness shifted. It was gone.

Joanna moved towards her husband in supplication. Her eyes red, tears still flowing down her cheeks. 

“Please…my love. P-please.”

She reached out to him, and he pulled her close, her softness a comfort.

Still, his eyes strayed to the corner, seeking the haunting gaze, straining to hear the whispered promises in the darkness.He would do this for them, he would claim their legacy. 

It would be a fortnight for the apparition to come back.

Tywin made the quick trip from his quarters to those of his wife, moving without a sound to the side of the bed and looking down upon her.The drape was parted slightly, in the moonlight she looked so young, innocent and untouched by the world.The worry washed from her face in sleep. 

It was time, her womb ripe. She would not deny him. His touch was determined to wake her, to seduce her. 

_Give me what I want!_

The emptiness screamed inside his head, and he staggered slightly with the force of its need.

Joanna opened her arms, welcoming him into her. So pure, it was intoxicating, nothing could compare.He savored her taste and her moans. The darkness within rejoiced, and Tywin let it take over, knowing it would fulfill its promise. Her eyes were closed, so trusting as she let her husband take his right, his fill of her. She loved him.

Joanna woke to the feel of her husband’s caresses, bold and demanding in the darkness of her bedchamber.She sighed with pleasure at the feel of his hands on her body, always softer than she expected, more patient than his demeanor in the light of day.Slowly, she opened her eyes, and looked up into his face. 

His usually sharp eyes were dull, and for a second she was fascinated by the color, a muddled green like the tumbled glass she gathered on the sand. His mouth—usually slow to expression with others, his lips curling slightly at the corners in annoyance or amusement—was open and snarling. At odds with the rest of his face, which looked wiped clean of emotion. His face was unfocused, as if untethered from his body.

And then she saw it— _a darkness_, an emptiness, a cold shroud wrapping around him and covering her.It was twisting and writhing between them. _Trying to claw, and slither, and ooze its way into her very being. _

_“Mother, please!”_

She cried out to the goddess she trusted, remembering the hours she spent in penance at her altar as a girl, as a wife. As from a far off place, she heard a snarling guffaw. A sickening feeling settled low in her gut, when she realized the sound was coming from her husband.

_“There is no Mother in this bed!”_

It growled and groaned.Fingers now gripping too tight, bruising her skin.Pushing, and prodding, and forcing…

_“You are worshiping at the wrong altar, my dear.” _

Panic and fear overwhelmed her.She closed her eyes tightly, tears seeping from behind the lids, wetting her face and bedclothes. She prayed over and over, for rescue, for forgiveness, for a swift end to this horrible nightmare.

When she reopened her eyes, she was in the Sept.

The Sept at Casterly Rock was small, but elaborate.Seven alcoves arranged in a circle.Seven golden statues, each surrounded by half burnt candles and small offerings.A raised dais was in the center, where generations of lions had gathered in life and in death, for weddings and for burials, for celebrations and dedications. 

Joanna Lannister sat on a bench in the alcove of the Mother, candles guttering low and the smell of incense heavy. She held perfectly still, afraid to move for fear of being yanked back to the horror she had left behind.

A small hand took hers.

A young boy, no more that five summers sat to her right.She looked down at his golden curls, tousled and glistening, and in her mind she imagined him running down the slope of grass that lead from the keep to the beach, kicking through the waves. 

Her chest tightened at the sight of him.Here was everything she coveted, and for a moment she was overpowered with the urge to pull him to her chest, to hold him so close that she could not possibly leave this place without dragging him with her. 

“Why do you cry?” 

His voice sounded tiny in the silence. With a start, she reached to wipe the tears she had not felt falling.

“She has forsaken me.”The words whispered, ending with a choking sound, as she smothered a sob.

He looked up.His eyes were astonishing.Two luminous emeralds, lit from within. She found it impossible not to smile at him despite her sadness.

“Your faith is fickle.You measure time as grains of sand…but to _Us_ it is the shifting of mountains. _It would have come_.”

“What?” She stared in confusion, the soul looking back at her so old.

“The blessing you asked for in prayer.The salvation you so desperately seek.It would have come in due time.”

Suddenly she understood, the power of the presence at her side tangible across the short distance between them.In one swift movement she was on her knees before the child—who was no child— begging for forgiveness. 

_Mother forgive me…_  
_Mother I did not know…_  
_Mother protect me from this evil…  
_ _For I would rather die…_

The child reached out his little hands, smoothing them over her hair, comforting her with soft sounds, and gentle touches.

“My poor child,” the words so odd coming from his mouth. “I can not undo what has been done. I can only add my blessing to the curse you already bear. _A light in the darkness_, a hope for the future, a balm to numb the pain that will threaten to consume you.”

“A blessing?” 

She asked looking into his unnatural eyes.

_“A child.” _

He suddenly smiled so brightly that it took her breath away, and just as quickly she watched it fade.“It will suffer,” he said with a grimace.“Tied to darkness from birth, seduced by an emptiness that it will call its own.”

“Then why have it at all?” Joanna asked, her face twisting with despair.

“In the end, it will be _GOOD_. Stubborn and arrogant, beautiful and sinful, but _GOOD_.”

He paused, waiting for an answer. 

Understanding filled her, she had been brought here to make a choice, to glimpse a future she might have.One filled with as much heartache as happiness. She began to tremble, awash with guilt at the prospect of condemning a babe to such a fate. 

Still, the decision came without hesitation, her want a desperate force too great to ignore. She nodded, swallowing her tears. Then quickly, before she lost her nerve, “Will it be happy?”

The child cocked his head to the side, as if pondering this question, looking forward to a destiny only it could see.“Some paths lead to misery and death, others the chance for…more.It depends…”

“On what?” Joanna grasped more tightly to his hand, feeling herself slipping away.

“On whether it chooses to follow _her._”

Joanna awoke with a start, lying naked on her bed.Tywin was standing across the room at the wash basin.He glanced at her over his shoulder, no hint of malice in his stare. There was no darkness left clinging to him, everything was as before. 

_In her womb darkness and light mingled, both taking hold._


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime was the light, but what was she? She was soulless, an empty shell. She had no light of her own to give the world. Her existence would bring only chaos and destruction. 
> 
> And Jaime was hers. He was her counterweight, her other half. His light was meant for her alone, their fates joined since before birth. She would kill for him. The realization settled in her mind, bringing her an unexpected peace. If this was her destiny so be it.

Jaime Lannister came into the world clinging to his twin sister’s heel. Birthed in tandem, somehow managing to hold on through the wrenching and screaming and gore of it all. The story spreading like a children’s tale, the twins united in the womb, that they could not bear to be separated even for a moment. The magnificent twins, doubly blessed by the gods, the golden Lannisters. He heard it over and over, from every nursemaid and septa, from aunts and cousins, and his mother. 

Later—many years later—Jaime would wonder if this was the truth of it. If he could not bear to be separated from his sister, or if he somehow knew that something else, something dark, bound them. Not struggling to join her in this world but holding her back, desperately trying to keep her away from his family, from the world.

He did not remember a time when he was Jaime. 

Just Jaime.

From the moment he existed, Jaime was the Lannister heir, the golden lion, the centerpiece of Tywin’s legacy. The weight of that realization settled quickly, reinforced by his tutors and his father’s demands without reprieve. 

And then there was Cersei…

She was glorious, with her golden ringlets, pouty pink lips, and perfect skin that shone like amber in the sunshine. Her beauty had a translucence that mesmerized, a veil over what lay beneath. As certain as Jaime was regarding his lot in life, the role she would play in their father’s grand planwas no less obvious or inescapable. She would serve her house with beauty and grace. She would captivate and seduce. The most powerful men in the realm would beg to be her Lord Husband. 

She was so good at it.

Meanwhile, Jaime seemed to struggle at everything. His clothes were always rumpled and soiled, his hair askew. He could not keep the titles of visiting guests straight. He spilled his glass at the dinner table almost every night, often retiring to his room angry and frustrated. Yet every visiting Lord and Lady left smiling over Tywin’s perfect little girl. 

Only Jaime knew that beneath her enchanting facade lay nihility. A rotting emptiness that threatened to consume his sister from the inside. He carried this burden with her. Held her secret to his chest as if it were his own. 

His earliest memories were of Cersei wailing in the crib next to his. Nothing could stop it. The wet nurses would rock her and feed her, wrap her in warmed blankets and rub honey on her gums. Despite their efforts, she screamed. Only when Joanna would open her shift, placing a naked Cersei flush against her skin and tucking her face in the crook of her neck, would she hush. Even then, no more than a babe himself, Jaime knew that his sister needed something, a piece of their mother that she would devour to appease her own gnawing need. Cersei would quiet, and his mother would seem to dwindle—just a little, not enough to notice at first. Subsequently it would be blamed on the taxing twin birth and the fact that rearing two children was so much more demanding than one.

When they were old enough for their own beds, Cersei would wait until the servants left and the fire was low then quickly scramble across the distance to his. First, she would yank off her night shirt, then tear at his, frantic to remove any barriers between them.Naked except for their small clothes, she would lie snug against him, chest to chest, thigh to thigh, as close as she could press, sighing at the contact. 

It was not unpleasant exactly, a pull at his insides, a drawing sensation just under his skin, that left him feeling lightheaded and limp. Disengaged from his body and surroundings, he would lie, smothered in Cersei’s softness. 

And she would whisper how much she needed him...Jaime. 

Not Tywin’s son. 

Not young Lord Lannister. 

Jaime. 

She made him feel weak, and powerful, and oh so loved. He would gladly sacrifice some of his life, his light, to alleviate her need. 

His mother was pregnant. 

The news excited Jaime.Thoughts of caring, holding, feeding and loving his baby brother or sister filled his mind and brought a smile to his face. Although, it seemed he was the only one joyful about this blessing. His father looked like a condemned man, more brooding and withdrawn than ever. Casting his mother furtive, guilty glances and staring down at his feet when she met his eyes. 

His mother just looked afraid. Never prone to nervous mannerisms, she took to wringing her hands and biting her nails. And while her belly swelled, the rest of her body withered away. The bones and tendons in her neck and wrists protruded in harsh relief with the absence of flesh. Her skin, waxy and thin, was stretched taut around her mouth. She would sit silent for hours on end, and he would worry that she had lost the ability to speak. That the tightness in her face and jaw had finally rendered her unable to make words.

When she did speak, it was worse.

She wandered the halls of the keep, a specter of her former self, muttering low. She talked of demons and deals, of payment owed, of lost trust, of death and deliverance, of fates bound and the blessings bestowed by the Mother. Jaime watched with guileless eyes, as his mother slowly drifted away. 

At the end of a particularly trying day, one which started with his mother rousing the household with her howls then quickly scurrying from her chambers with vacant eyes and uncombed hair, Joanna disappeared. Dinner came and went, Tywin and Cersei retired to their rooms, leaving Jaime to find her on his own. 

He found her in the altar of the Mother, somehow managing to sink to her knees despite the cumbersome weight of her growing stomach. She was sobbing and inconsolable when he knelt down beside her, gently pulling her head to his lap and running his fingers through her hair.

“Why do you cry?”

He asked it innocently, wondering why something that should bring bliss had brought his mother only grief and madness. She jerked her head from his embrace, her expression twisting with pain, searching his eyes for something, _someone, _who was not there. The ghost of a memory flitting behind her eyes, her face settling back into the furrows he had come to expect.

“I’m tainted,” she said flatly. “This babe should not exist…I should have been more mindful, but I did not think it possible…” The words died on her lips and she stared at a spot on the floor, eyes unfocused. “In my carelessness, I have condemned this new life as well.”

She turned toward him, and he was again startled by the dark hollows around her eyes and the pinched look of her mouth. 

“Mother, I do not understand,” he pleaded for an answer, for an explanation as to why his life was shattering around him.

“Do you remember last spring when a fawn fell into the well?” 

He did — of course — he did. Several members of the household had become ill with fever and colic, some vomiting until they heaved blood. It went on for weeks, not ending quickly as was the usual course. When all other sources of pestilence had been ruled out, the maester suggested to Lord Lannister that a thorough inspection of the water supply be conducted. Looking for something to occupy an otherwise dull day, Jaime had accompanied his father to the well. He watched as the small, decomposing remains of a deer was fished out. He stared both fascinated and repulsed at the empty sockets where the eyes once were, the fur and flesh falling off the bones. 

He asked his father if this meant that they could go back to drinking the water now. His father shook his head. “No, the well is fouled." Tywin stared into his eyes, "The rot from the deer has leeched into the water around it. Removing the deer does not remove the taint, it will last for years, possibly forever.” And with that his father walked away, ordering the workers to close off the well and dig a new one.

He frowned at his mother, the memory replaying in his mind's eye, as she waited. “It is like the well,” she went on. “I have carried rot inside of me, let the darkness seep into me, whatever it touches is poisoned. Twisting and maiming everything near.It threatens you still…you who have been seven years outside of my womb.” She grabbed his wrist with a grip too strong for someone so frail, “Do not let it consume you too, my Jaime, my light.” 

She bowed her head, and began to weep again, heaving wails that made her whole body shake. Gently, he took her hand, pulling her slowly to her feet. She followed him like a sleepwalking child, back to her rooms.

That night it was Jaime who rushed the distance from his room to Cersei’s. It was he who threw himself into her arms and pulled her to him with a consuming ache. Without words, she took his face in both hands, and pressed her lips to his. And he gave in to the sinking feeling, the stripping away of his light. He felt the familiar draining pull, and for a moment he hoped that she would go too far, that he would fade into her endless emptiness and never wake up.

Jaime stood, silent and unmoving, back pressed against the opened window sill. The wind swept in, bringing with it the brine off the ocean and the heat of summer. It was a beautiful day, sunlight falling softly across the floor, robins chirping in his mother’s favorite tree just below the window.

He wanted to run and hide, to close his eyes and block out the certainty of what was happening. _His mother was dying_. Standing so close to her frail and broken body made that fact real, causing his chest to ache and his vision to blur as his eyes dampened. Being too young to understand the need to say farewell, he fought against the impulse to escape. He would stand beside her, be her light one last time.

It had been a shock to everyone that Joanna Lannister survived long enough to deliver her youngest son.Jaime had waited in the hallway, listening intently to her screams and the urging of the midwives.He crouched down into a little ball beside the door to her chambers, hoping he would not be noticed and scolded for interfering with women’s affairs. 

He did not know how to pray, not really, so he spoke to the Mother like he would a friend. He asked the goddess to watch over his mother and the new baby that she was bringing into the world.For her pain to end, for the child to be healthy, for his mother to live and return to being the woman who had raised him, the person he loved. And in those moments, he did not feel alone.

He watched as the maids and midwives exited with bundles of blood soaked sheets, expressions downcast and drawn.They whispered amongst themselves of the tragedy of it all, that a fine Lady would die to bring such a thing into the world.His baby brother was described as a dwarf, but the words “imp” and “abomination” were muttered as well. 

Looking at his mother now, he realized that his prayers were futile. Joanna Lannister, Tywin’s lovely wife, would never return to the woman she once was. She had fought long enough to ensure that his brother was alive and well, as if that were the only thing keeping her tied to this world. Now her tether broken, she was drifting away, her breaths shallow. She was so pale, her lips cracked and bloody were moving, too weak for the words to be heard. 

He moved closer, pressed his ear to her cheek and listened, “…And under your protection. Keep them from harm. Guide their steps and vanquish all that will seek their misfortune.” Her litany of supplications to the merciful goddess that once had interfered, and would again, or so his mother faithfully believed. The babe was alive and it brought her comfort and peace. She did not linger on the fact that her husband was not by her side. He had not touched the newborn, having heard from the maester about the deformities and complications. 

_If she dies, let it fall from her bedchamber’s window, cast out as a sign of the calamity bestowed upon our House_.

His words terrified her, knowing he would not hesitate. She begged the Mother, to save this fey child, her last blessing, and the final curse…for their disobedience and dalliances with the darkness, paid for in the flesh of their flesh intertwined with sin and purity, their perversity borne by one so tiny and already broken. 

The handmaid knelt at his mother’s bedside, lifted her head, gently wiping the sweat from her forehead and smoothing her stiff hair from her clammy face.Joanna turned to see Jaime in the room with her. His eyes downcast, his lips bitten raw, he stood quiet as a mouse. She wished desperately for the power to cocoon him in a hard shell, a shield capable of rejecting every evil thrown at him. 

_Please Mother, protect his gentle heart. He feels things deeply, his love, so pure and true. May my Jaime never stop loving, but guide his sight, so he is not blinded by the impulse to protect whom he loves above all else. It is his strength and his weakness, and it could end up destroying him._

“J-Jaime, my darling boy, come closer. Let me see you…let me hold your hand.Don’t be scared.” 

His mother’s hoarse voice startled him from his brooding, forcing him to face her and walk slowly the ten steps to her bedside. Joanna found the strength to make room for Jaime to lie down beside her.She nuzzled his hair, taking in his scent.He smelled of sea salt and grass, oiled leather and his wooden practice sword, baked goods pinched from the kitchen, and the minty soap his septa rubbed behind his ears. All the beautiful innocence of Jaime, she wanted to treasure forever…her Jaime. Her eyes watered, and she fought to hold the tears from flowing down her cheeks. The time was near and she needed to keep her wits, there were things he should learn before her untimely death. 

“The Mother said you’d be chosen one with light inside him, my golden son.The darkness will find you, seek you out and try to entice you.You must resist it, or it will consume you whole.My goddess…she said you will suffer…it is inevitable. But Jaime, you must choose **_her_**, the one that will cross your path, the one sent to lead away from peril. My sweet boy, even after everything…you are good and worthy of her.”

She turned her face to him, lips now touching his ear, and he felt the words as much as heard them. “It is honorable to love your family, your heart is so true.But Jaime, there is nothing you can do for her. The fault of it lies with your father and I, we desecrated something pure, and in so doing destroyed any hope for your sister. This burden is not yours to bear.”

She kissed his temple and pulled back, smiling. “I love you, my J-Jaime. Love your brother. H-he’ll need you. Now, be a good boy and fetch me something to drink, my throat is so dry.” Jaime nodded, wiping his tears on his sleeve, he rolled from the bed and nearly stumbled in his rush to help. 

Lurking in the corner, Cersei remained unnoticed. The gnawing inside her grew, her need to feed her emptiness. Her mother’s words rang in her ear, gods and fate, light and good, death and pestilence. She shook her head, trying to clear the troubling thoughts.Jaime was the light, but what was she?_She was soulless, an empty shell. She had no light of her own to give the world. Her existence would bring only chaos and destruction. _

And Jaime was hers. He was her counterweight, her other half. His light was meant for her alone, their fates joined since before birth._She would kill for him._ The realization settled in her mind, bringing her an unexpected peace.If this was her destiny so be it. 

Her mother turned to her daughter, sadness filling her face. “Did you hear?” The words hung between them, and Joanna beckoned to her, welcoming Cersei to her side. 

“Your burden is so heavy,” Joanna cradled her head to her shoulder.“It is my fault, I deserve every strike, every disdainful word that you sling at me. Misery haunts you, there is no escaping it.”

Tears flowed down Cersei’s cheeks, wetting her mother’s shoulder.“I will fight for him.” Her words fierce and low. “No one else will claim him, he will follow no other.He will never touch another, he will have no other woman.I will be his everything.” Her words gathering strength, expression changing from sadness to rage. 

Cersei turned to her mother, faces so close now, and for the first time Joanna truly understood what she was, the evil she had helped bring into this world. All pretense dropped away, and Cersei grabbed her mother’s wrist, squeezing hard enough to cause her to wince and try to pull away. 

Her words a low growl through gritted teeth, “Not much time left, Mother?Do you think father will morn? I’m afraid your monster might die right after you…What do you suppose his little body will look like when it lands at the base of the keep?”Her words carefully chosen to cause the most pain. Her face twisted in a parody of a sweet smile, “Do not fret, I’ll take good care of my other half.” At this she leaned closer, their foreheads now pressed together, the spittle from her words landing on Joanna’s cheeks. 

“Jaime is MINE. In time, he will forget what you told him today. You will not be here to remind him.I will use his honor against him, twist his guilt until he cannot bear to be far from my sight. He already loves me…in time his body will betray him, as well.” 

Joanna gasped, Cersei’s smile widening at the look of apprehension on her face, “I will claim him completely. Ruin him beyond repair. He will never be free of me.” A last look passed between them, Cersei victorious in the face of her mothers’s devastation. “Goodbye, Mother,” she whispered as she pressed her lips to her forehead and took what was left of Joanna’s life.

She sat motionless, straddling the lifeless body of her mother, staring into her empty eyes. “I still breathe Mother, and you do not.You have lost this battle.I do not care what your goddess promised, what fate he was destined to fulfill.Jaime is mine now.”

_Mine. _

Jaime sat on the edge of his bed, looking out at the moonlight. Evening had long fallen, and the dew had settled, the wetness of it seeping through the open window and hanging heavy in the room. He was leaving. His things already packed in trunks and saddlebags, his sword polished and sharp on the mantle. 

“I can’t believe you are leaving me.” His sister whined from behind him, her waist pressed to the small of his back, curling around him in the covers. 

He sighed, taking a deep breath, he explained it to her again as if she were still a child, “Cersei you know I must go, father has promised me as a page to Lord…”

“Yes, I know!” She was suddenly furious, pulling away from him, eyes snapping even in the dim light. “You are promised as page to Lord Who-Gives-a-Fuck, while I must stay here, swallowed up to my arse in needlework and music sessions and such nonsense. What does it matter anyway? All they see when they look at me is a pretty face. Nice tits and a ripe twat that is practically lined with Lannister gold. As if it matters if I can sew.”

She was staring away from him now, wetness forming under her lashes. Her lip trembled slightly, tears slowly dripping down the side of her face, caching in the curve of her ear and wetting her curls.

“You know I will die.” 

The words came as raspy whisper.He stared at her lips, willing himself to hear them over the sound of her breathing.

He reached out to her, wiping the trace of her tears away with his thumb, stroking along the ridge of her nose, over the tip. She smiled, childlike, and he remembered when they used to lie in bed, noses touching and covers pulled up over their heads. His hand moved lower, brushing the fullness of her mouth. For a moment he was mesmerized by her softness, the idea of her beauty making him forget what hid underneath, allowing him to believe it true. 

_“You know there is nothing there. The emptiness inside me never rests. Without you…it will consume me.” _

He wanted to yell that she was wrong. She was not the monster she feared, but he knew the words would be meaningless. It had always been there — the _want_ — the _need_ — the _lust_ for something unattainable. The urge to fill the gnawing hollowness inside her that reaches out and drags anything warm and good into its endless pit. 

He had held it at bay for so long, but he was exhausted, and still so young.

“What can I do?” He sounded as desperate as she did. He was unwilling to see her suffer, afraid to leave her alone, unwatched and starved. 

She grabbed him with a fierceness that frightened him. Wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him toward her, she fell backwards into the bed. Her hands tangled in his hair, roughly yanking his mouth tight to hers. Her lips opened, and her tongue pushed over his lips, pressed into his mouth, wild and savage. He had never been kissed like this before, never felt this reckless and alive. And while he knew that _this _was wrong, that the gods would surely punish him for this act for the rest of his existence, he could not deny that in that moment he wanted her. More than he had ever wanted anything before. 

She pulled away, enough to meet his eyes, her pupils dark with arousal, her breath coming in shaky pants,_“I need you inside me, to fill the emptiness, to make me whole just for a moment.” _

“_No, no, no_ _—_ ” Jaime shook his head vehemently, denying her in his mind, while his body betrayed him. 

“Cersei, your honor — ”

“I do not want to lose my maidenhead to a husband of my father’s choosing.” Her voice was cold, the venom flowing from her like a living thing. “I do not want to be someone’s pet, dragged along, their arm a gilded leash. I do not want to be a fucking brood mare, sold to the highest bidder and made to lie still, while some swine ruts on top of me desperately trying to plant his sons in my belly.” Her words were still low, but the fury was there, just beneath the calm. 

“I want you to take me _now_. I want you to be the first one inside me, the first one to own me completely. And when the emptiness comes to claim me I will remember feeling whole, just this once.”

He could not save her.Not from a future given in service to his fathers machinations. Not from the blackness that seemed to bubble up from the very center of her being, snarling and clawing its way into the light. 

But he could do this. 

They stared at each other in silence, until he gently lowered his lips to hers. He gave himself to her, he had always been hers.

It had been a fortnight since Jaime left her, and Cersei was dying.Starving for something that she could not name, the longing overpowering her without the respite provided by Jaime’s presence, his soul. 

She took on a furtive demeanor, crouched and coiled, like a feral animal stalking the halls.Her hair was matted, and her skin dusky. She tried eating, creeping into the kitchens in the middle of the night and gorge herself on whatever food she could find.Only to end up running out the servant’s door and heaving it into the yard. 

Her anguish grew, and with glassy eyes she would stare at passing handmaidens and stable boys, licking her lips with want.All of them were blond, always beautiful, likely some by-blow of a distant Lannister cousin.

_She could lure them back to her quarters. Ply them with wine and promises of pleasure.She would capture their lips and drain them dry._

Her thoughts haunted her, still she resisted, not allowing herself to succumb to the craving that made her so very afraid. So she continued to wither, a shriveling husk of a human. She was adrift, her thoughts muddled. The ever-present need slithering around the edges of her consciousness, her constant companion.

Begrudgingly, she sought solace in the sept, laughing at herself for the pretense of having any faith left. She knelt at the altar of the Maiden.She waited, listened with an open mind,pleading for release, for peace. 

Nothing…

Her lips curled back in a snarl, “Miserable cunt!” She grabbed a votive from the floor, slinging it against the statue and watching the glass burst and the flames scatter.“Fickle bitch!One parting of the legs and your esteem is forsaken.Why should I worship you now? You are useless to me!”

Wild hair and rabid eyes, a force of nature poised to destroy anything in her path, Cersei rose and stalked around in a circle, all semblance of decency gone, glaring at every statue of the Seven. She stumbled to a halt at the altar of the Mother, the anger now draining, replaced with agony. Her voice dropped, at once high and docile, “You were supposed to protect me…to never leave me…to keep me safe.” All her strength washed away, and she crumpled to the floor.

A shade shifted behind her, a breeze brushing across her shoulders in the closed space. The hair prickled on the back of her neck as she felt it approach, so silent. She was unable to face _it_.

_“We have been waiting for you.” _

Its voice was muffled, like a million whispers in the wind, catching and swirling inside her head. The apparition edged around to face her, crouching so that they were on the same level.In its face she saw everyone and no one. A glimpse of her mother’s eyes, Jaime’s nose, intermixed with stranger after stranger. Endless faces blending together, its features shifting and rearranging so quickly that she could not focus, making her woozy.

_“Why do you worship here?”_

It waved its hand, encompassing the entire space._“Are you suddenly devout?”_ The phantom snickered, a derisive sound with no trace of real mirth. _“If you are searching for true faith, I can lead you. Your god does not reside here.”_

“But who?” She leaned closer, trying desperately to see it clearly, to put a face to the shadow before her.

_“The same god you have always worshiped—chaos, blight, voidness, corruption, possession, lust—the emptiness within you is an extension of our Lord. Its claim to you established long before you took your first breath.”_

She fell backwards, fingers scrabbling on the stone floor in an attempt to gain some distance from the specter in front of her.

_“You are MINE, Cersei Lannister!” _

The voice a penetrating rumble that vibrated against the back of her skull, something otherworldly taking over her conscience, _“I claim you!It was my seed that took root in your mother’s womb.The darkness you have been fighting against for so long your birthright, the emptiness your destiny.”_

It reached for her, long fingers twining in her hair, tugging painfully as it pulled her upright. Now face to face, its aggression waned, replaced with carnality. His grasp shifted to a caress, releasing her hair to stroke along her jaw and trail down her neck. The other slid low across her hip.She shivered, unconsciously leaning into the touch, suddenly desperate for contact.

“The _Void_ will come.Our Master will bring death and destruction from the North, the world laid bare in a wave of blood and lust, the dead rising to ensure our victory. Our god will fill you, _own_ you, and you will grow stronger than even you can imagine.You will raise an army in the South, as our priestess…the heir to our realm. Your path will be your own, for the first time you will feel powerful and complete.”

It was now so close its breath rushed cold against her ear, a putrid scent catching in her throat. “With or without you, this world will be consumed, havoc and madness will reign. Reborn.” Its words trailed off, she felt it writhing and twisting against her, waiting…she closed her eyes. 

She was so tired…of pushing back the darkness, of clinging to a humanity that would never fit her, of searching for a soul that simply was not there. This world would gladly doom her to a life without joy, bound to man not of her choosing, made to bear his seed. Why should she hesitate? There was no reason to resist.

She opened her eyes and placed her hands on either side of the demon’s face.Aching pain spread from her fingertips up her arms as its cold settled under her skin. She leaned forward, a breath away from its lips. The air steamed between them, her mouth hovering over it. “Yes,” she whispered, her lips settling on its wisps of smoke, her mouth opening for it to take her whole.

The shadow in front of her dissipated, replaced by blackness oozing from every crevice. The empty spaces spilling open and pouring into the air around her. Caught in the center of a whirlpool, the power tore at her hair and clothes. Claws, she could not see, slashing at her arms and face. 

She screamed.

The darkness flowed into her, thick and suffocating.It filled and stretched her, her skin pulled to bursting. She welcomed it, letting it pour into her, allowing it to consume her, obliterate her, until nothing else remained.


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _She is so young. The power is too great for one so small, so weak. How will we protect her until she is ready? She is a girl, a woman one day. What if she marries, bears children? She cannot possibly control it. She will be our downfall._

* * *

Brienne of Tarth was odd. 

Perhaps the most odd thing about her was her lack of appreciation of just how different she was.Of course she had noticed that she was taller than every other child in the keep. Yes, she had asked for a practice sword for her third name day, and soon after was dangerously adept at using the small steel broadsword her father had commissioned for her. She was astonishingly fair, her hair silver in the noon day sun, and her nose and cheeks covered in freckles so closely packed that you could not touch your finger between them.She was prone to scowl, and slow to smile. Her wit was quick, but her tongue slow, preferring action.She was kind and charitable, honorable to a fault.And, as she was impossibly bad at it, she never lied. 

She lived in a world apart from the rest of Westeros, isolated on her little island of Tarth.She was the Evenstar’s youngest child, the Lady Brienne. An ungainly daughter of a low ranking Lord whose only power was the strategic placement of his smallish rock in the space between civilization and the Eastern wilderness. 

Tarth was ignored, which was exactly as intended.A carefully constructed facade cultivated over centuries.In relative isolation there, the descendants of the First Men, the Andals, the children of _the Warrior_ lived, and worshiped, and trained.Waiting to be called to defend the rest of the world from the chaos and emptiness that they knew existed, just beyond what could be seen. 

Each generation a soldier was selected by _the Warrior_, a Chosen One, who would carry _His_ power into battle. Usually this man was one of the descendants, already aware of what it entailed to have the blessing of _the Warrior_, the responsibility required. Never to be accused of lacking a sense of humor, every few hundred years _the Warrior _would choose an outsider, some random Targaryen or Stark who would show up weary eyed and with the mark still burning on his wrist. 

This time however, _the Warrior _had chosen her father.Brienne would sit cradled in his arms and gently rub the markings on his wrists.Eight pronged stars burned into his skin.Eight points for eight gods—_The Seven Who Were One_ in their watch over mankind, and the _One Who Was Separate_, with _His_ constant want and corruption, willing the destruction of the world. They honored the darkness even as they fought against its advance.For ignoring _His_ existence was the first step toward defeat. 

Here among these fighters she belonged.Not belittled for her size or strength, she was raised to believe that she had a higher purpose.That she would eventually follow the Chosen One into battle.That even though she was but a girl, she could make some small difference. 

Brienne was ten the day the attack came. 

Her father was hosting a visiting dignitary from Dorne and his company.Brienne sat by her father at dinner, filled with excitement.Her father was hesitant to host visitors, afraid to open his home to strangers.But this man was a wealthy merchant, his trade would bring much needed coin to his people who desperately needed it, and so an exception was made.She stared fascinated at his consorts, their lithe bodies and bronze skin on open display, barely covered in billowing fabric.The men who stood guard behind them were nearly as beautiful, all dark hair and brooding eyes. After dinner they gathered in the solar to finalize the trade agreement and she was sent to bed in a huff.Angry that her older brother, Galladon, had been allowed to stay.

She had reached the top of the stairs when she suddenly stopped, dread settling in her legs like ballast stones, rooting her to the spot. She felt the climate shift, the cold creeping into the warmth of her home,the air in her lungs now dead and suffocating. She turned and crept back to the door, peering around the frame.

Her father stood, back straight and head held high, the point of a dagger digging into the flesh of his neck.A thin trail of blood catching in the collar of his shirt.The Dornish man was standing behind him.He was not as tall as her father, his head barely at shoulder height, and his lips were pressed to his ear, hissing in a way that made her skin crawl.In front of her father Galladon was on his knees.One of the guards had his sword drawn and pressed to her brother’s back.The fabric of his tunic and shirt already pierced, the tip of the sword cutting into the skin. 

“The First Men have grown weak.Look at their Chosen One!” The merchant cackled, the sound echoing around the room, a hundred voices laughing at once. 

“The fear of losing his pathetic whelp has made him weak.The Andals of old would have sacrificed a hundred children before they were laid low by the darkness. _ The Void_ is right in choosing now to rise.”His voice rose with conviction, the rest of his party muttering in agreement. 

Brienne could see the darkness in him now, and she wondered how she had not noticed it earlier.It shimmered around him like oil in the sunlight, coating him, the surface shifting and squirming, tethers of black reaching out to his followers. 

“Father…let me go. Live to fight.” Galladon had tears falling silently down his cheeks, but his eyes were bright and his voice was strong.She watched as her father shook his head and locked eyes with her brother, a wordless agreement passing between them. 

_They were both going to die._

In retrospect she should have known. It had been coming for weeks…perhaps months.The warm feeling that would not subside, as if her insides were simmering, and the itching of her wrists and the soles of her feet.A restless feeling that made her feel like she was crawling out of her own skin, only made better when she was sparring. 

Overwhelmed with fear, the heat inside rose unchecked, cutting off her breath, making her hands tremble and her vision narrow.She was going to lose them both, she would be alone. 

Without thinking she was moving, charging at the closest guard who was back to door.She grabbed his sword from the sheath on his right hip.Swinging behind him to the left she sliced along the back of his knees as she went, causing him to collapse to the floor in a howl.She threw herself forward and thrust the blade through his back, piercing heart and lungs.He was dead before the others had registered what was happening. 

And still the fire inside her rose, flames now licking at her wrists and feet, skin blistering from the inside out.Her movements became stronger, muscles fueled by the scorching power filling her.Time seemed to slow, and Brienne could see every movement of her opponents with such clarity, the slightest start giving away their intent.At the same time her strikes came faster and faster. She was dancing through the air, cutting through the tethers of darkness only she could see. 

In one quick move she pulled the sword from the fallen man and spun low, letting the momentum carry her, sword flying up in an ark to block the crushing downward strike from the guard threatening Galladon, his blade no longer pressed to his into her brother’s back.Pushing upright from a crouch, she threw her weight into the block, leaning forward and sliding her sword along the length of his until they were locked at the hilt. Twisting her wrists, she positioned her sword to the inside, and with a sudden clockwise wrenching motion she yanked, his sword flying loose from his grip and skittering across the floor.In a beat she switched directions, a high backhand swing that sliced cleanly through his neck in a killing blow.

Galladonpicked up the fallen man’s sword, and as one they turned to face the merchant. 

He stared at them, eyes wild and unfocused. “You will yield!” He was screeching now, his claws unsheathed, anger rolling off of him.The blade dug deeper into the skin of her father’s neck. “Drop your weapons!”

Brienne did as he said, Galladon followed suit.“What is the point?” Her voice came out flat, a trickle of sweat sliding down the side of her neck the only sign of the battle she was fighting.All of her will focused on containing the energy that was churning inside of her, a fire that if left unchecked would burn through her and consume anything in its path.

She took one tentative step toward him, then another, inching closer.Hands held up in surrender, her blue eyes hypnotic in their intensity.“It was never your plan to spare us.You would kill us all, destroy everyone and everything here. Death and chaos, greed and longing, those are your domain.” She was standing right in front of him now, the dagger pressed against her father’s neck inches from her face. 

With a lunge she reached over her father’s shoulder and pressed both hands to the sides of the merchant’s face, her wrists wrapping around his neck.Shuttering she released the power she had been holding back, letting it flow through her, devour her.Pain, raw and terrible, stretched out from the center of her chest, traveling down her arms and legs.It flowed through her wrists, the skin sizzled, the smell of her own flesh burning making her stomach clench. 

Her face was inches from his now, the words no longer her own.“I see you beast!” she roared. The merchant tried to pull away as she gripped him more tightly, hands twisting in his hair.“This was a good man, an honorable man…a father, a companion. You have no claim over his soul.”

They were both burning now. The skin of his neck and her wrists melting together.As one they screamed, and still she held on, consciousness blurring, blackness clawing at the edges of her vision.Her knees buckled and she pulled him down to the floor with her. 

The darkness relented, receding like the tide back into the nothingness from which it came.Brienne rolled away from the merchant, her wrists tearing loose with a sickening sound, taking with them charred flesh.She held one up to her face, the eight pronged star of the Chosen One the last thing she saw before unconsciousness claimed her.

She woke in a bath of ice, still burning inside, in agony from the cold encasing her.The voices came muffled, she faded in and out, trying to hold on to the words. 

_She is so young. _

_The power is too great for one so small, so weak. _

_How will we protect her until she is ready? _

_She is a girl, a woman one day._

_What if she marries, bears children? She cannot possibly control it. _

_She will be our downfall._

The calm voice of her father intervened. “_The Warrior_ did not err,she is _His_ choice.She will survive this, she will learn and grow, we will adapt.”She smiled to herself as she sank back into the water.She had saved him, and in doing so had stripped him of power.Still he defended her, believed in her. His faith would be her strength, she would not fail him. 

For the next nine years she trained.She learned everything the master of arms could teach her, and when her skill eventually surpassed his, she trained with her father.Growing taller with each passing year, she was now Selwyn’s equal in height and breadth.The muscles of her arms and shoulders roped from pushing herself until she fell to bed each night sore and exhausted.Every afternoon she swam, the cool water calming the heat that still plagued her.The sea never too cold for her comfort, even in what passed for winter on Tarth.

In the beginning it was difficult to contain the power.It would build inside her, a burning pressure at the base of her skull, the center of her chest hot and aching.She lived in fear, hoping that she would not break, that her concentration would hold and she could contain the destructive force that lived beneath her skin. Brienne prayed every day, though not always in the sept._The Warrior _heard her, she was sure of it, so she would call out to _Him_ from her bed at night, on horseback as she rode the trails around the keep, in the training yard as she ran through practice exercises. 

_Warrior make me strong enough to bear your blessing. Keep those around me from harm. Guide me to where I am needed to do your bidding._

She learned to release a little of the power during these prayers, the heat rising to the surface, flowing out of her as a gentle warmth.She grew into her gift, owned it, and eventually cherished it. 

The matter of chastity she had decided on her own.It was not as if men were throwing themselves at her anyway, she was quiet by nature.The power, and the heavy weight of bearing it, made her withdrawn and awkward.Add to that her stature and strength, she was terrifying to most, her company welcomed only by her family and closest friends.She had sacrificed so much to claim this destiny as her own, grabbing at it and pulling it tight, even when it hurt.It shaped and defined her, gave her purpose, made her future clear. She would not give it up willingly;_ not for the touch_ _of a man, not for the love of a child, not for an heir or the pride of her family._She would cling to it until _the Warrior_ deemed her unworthy and took it from her to give to another.Hopefully when she was much too old to hoist a sword. 

For now she waited, and wished for a sign telling her just exactly what_He_ wanted her to do.

The raven had arrived a month earlier with the strange request.Ser Lorimer, a hedge night of questionable repute, asked for an audience with Lord Selwyn Tarth. The cryptic message was that he “had something that belonged to the Lord,” thus completing the correspondence.The boat transporting the knight had docked several hours earlier, and the watchmen at the port reported that he should be arriving shortly, squire in tow. 

Selwyn had become even less trusting in the years following the attack, now hesitant to let anyone unknown inside the walls of his keep.As a precaution he asked Brienne to wait with him, sword at the ready.At nineteen she was a hulking figure, her strength evident even at rest.She sat, hunched and brooding in the corner, unhappy to be placed on display in front of a stranger. 

Ser Lorimer strolled into the room with an arrogance that was irksome, making Brienne dislike him immediately.Behind him was a boy, half her age, with unruly curls and soft brown eyes framed by long lashes. He was pretty…_prettier than her _she thought will a snort of self derision.His eyes were downcast, glancing up only occasionally to gauge the people around him, then quickly lowering. 

The hedge night took a seat in front of her father, the boy stood behind him, nervously shifting his feet. “I’ve brought your squire back to you.Found him alone amongst the Lannister banner men, scared little shit.”At that he poked unkindly at the boy’s middle, making him wince with discomfort.“I expect he’s worth some sort of reward, being from an honorable house and all.”He raised his eyebrows at Lord Selwyn, looking satisfied with his own importance. 

Selwyn Tarth sat for a long moment, quietly assessing the two people in front of him.Ser Lorimer looked impatient, clearly expecting a more robust welcome, while he boy looked scared, terrified really, leaning as far away from the knight as possible without actually moving.His gaze darting between the three other people in the room, expecting a strike at any moment. 

“I am most happy to have my squire returned to me.” Selwyn answered, his voice smooth and low.In the corner Brienne’s eyebrows raised and her eyes widened, but she remained silent.“Come let us decide a respectable payment for your efforts.”Her father seemed intent on separating the boy from this man who clearly had no concern for his well being.He escorted Ser Lorimer out of the room, eager to give the deplorable knight his money and send him on his way. 

Brienne was left alone with the boy, who finally looked up, now seemingly unable to tear his eyes away from her.She was used to being stared at, whispered about and mocked behind her back.The half woman who burned with the power of _the Warrior,_ all fire and fury, no softness to speak of.But this boy looked at her in a manner that she was unaccustomed to, with a reverence and longing that made her feel strange and powerful in a different way.He unnerved her. 

“What’s your name boy?” The words came out rougher than she intended, covering her own unease. 

“Podrick…Podrick Payne,” he stumbled over the words, his voice low and hesitant.

“What exactly are you doing here _Podrick Payne_?My father has no squire, I wager no one on Tarth has ever set eyes on you before. Why did you lie?”The words were an accusation, she had learned early on to mistrust those she did not know.

He was shaking now, a fine tremble that spread from hands to torso, his lips quivering and twisting, attempting to speak.Suddenly he rushed forward, and Brienne instinctively took a step back, her hand moving to rest on the hilt of her sword.

“Because this is where I was meant to be.”The words burst forth from his mouth with a force that she was not expecting.“I _KNOW _you” he went on, “I have _SEEN_ you.”He was pacing in front of her now, the words coming quickly, his motions frantic.No menace in his actions, only a need for her to understand. 

“The power spread through you like fire, burning you from the inside, searing.It _HURT_, you were so afraid, so brave.They put you in ice to keep you from cooking.” He had stopped his movements now, closing his eyes as if looking back on a memory. 

“You would swim in the sea, it made the heat bearable, made the sores heal more quickly. You trained every day, sometimes twice.You were so ashamed of being chosen, of taking that gift from your father, of keeping it from your brother. So afraid that _His _blessing was wasted on a girl.” 

Bile rose in Brienne’s throat, for now this boy was speaking her thoughts, her feelings aloud.Words she had never spoken to anyone, fears she had not shared. 

“How?” she whispered.

He opened his eyes, there were tears running down his face now.“I see things. Waking dreams.Things that have happened, things that might happen.”

“I know how strange this sounds,” he continued, his words choked, all his effort spent in simply making them heard. “I belong _here_.I belong _with you_.I have dreamed of you for as long as I can remember. As soon as _the Seven _showed me you were on Tarth I came.”

“There is a darkness gathering in the Capital.There are things you must do, a path you must take, people in need of saving.I can guide you.”

He stepped closer, now just in front of her.His beautiful, kind eyes looking up into hers.No guile, no judgement, only truth looked back at her.He reached his hand up to touch her cheek.It was small, weak. “You will be my honor Brienne of Tarth, until the day I can be yours.”

* * *


	5. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne grabbed his shoulders to keep him from sliding to the floor, and roughly hauled him into the bed, head rested in her lap. She threaded her fingers through his brown curls, the action a small comfort. “You must protect the Stag, give your honor to the dishonorable. Seek out the emptiness and close the maw.” His voice becoming weak and slurred with sleep. 
> 
> “Winterfell” the word was a sigh. “We need to go to Winterfell.” With that he drifted off, a child again in her embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pre-reader: Ro_Nordmann

Podrick Payne spent exactly one night in the soldiers’ barracks of Evenfall Hall before he was unceremoniously expelled by the other occupants. Brienne could not blame them, not after they awoke to him standing in the middle of the room, staring empty eyed into a corner and talking to the shadows. His words were filled with warning, of emptiness and rot eating away at the monarchy, of a boy lying broken in the snow. 

Brienne saw no other choice really, she would not let him sleep in the hallway. She simply picked up his bedroll and, without discussion, moved him to an empty spot by the fire in her quarters. There he stayed, her unwitting roommate and unsolicited squire. Bit by bit her surroundings adjusted to accommodate him. A cot appeared a few days after the move, followed by a screen to section off a space for dressing and the privy. Lastly a used trunk was placed at the end of her bed to hold his meager belongings. 

She found that the boy just as easily moved into the space of her daily existence. Brienne did not have many friends, she was close to her father and brother, but found it nearly impossible to be herself around anyone else. Too shy and filled with self-doubt to completely let down her guard. 

Podrick was different. He had an ease about him, a natural ability to take things as they came without reservation or judgement. Brienne realized sadly that this was likely a result of having no constants in his childhood, his adaptability a skill he had learned to survive all alone. With Pod it was not so much a decision to befriend him, instead he simply _ assumed _ she was his friend, as if he already knew she would be. 

The day after he moved into her chambers he woke when she did and watched as she put on her armor. Before donning each piece, Brienne would hand it to Pod, who wordlessly turned it over in his small hands as she explained its purpose. Frowning in concentration, he tried to memorize how all of the buckles and straps fit together. He then followed her to the dining hall, broke his fast at her side in silence, then trailed after her to the training yard. She picked up a practice sword for herself and handed a smaller one to him, then assumed a fighting stance. He mimicked her pose, she adjusted his grip on the sword and nudged his feet into place. Slowly they began to move, her shifting from one position to another with him following, pausing every few minutes for her to correct his hold or footing. When they were done she taught him how to sharpen her sword, how to clean and mend her armor, and how to store all of it properly. They moved together in relative silence, neither one feeling the need to fill the space between them with words. As night fell he retreated back to her chambers and took his place by the fire. 

For the first few days Podrick insisted on calling her “My Lady”. Brienne would scowl and mumble under her breath that she was no lady. He tentatively tried calling her “Ser,” which seemed to have the same effect as rubbing salt in a wound, Brienne wincing and pulling away from the word. She huffed at him that women were not allowed to be knights, their honor apparently held between their legs rather than in their sword hand. They settled on simply “Pod" and “Brienne," agreeing that in front of others she would begrudgingly allow him to call her by her title.

Two moons into their new found partnership, Brienne woke to find Pod standing at the side of her bed, staring down at her with empty eyes. 

“Pod?” She whispered softly to no response. “Podrick?” Her voice rising with alarm. 

“The boy…the broken boy by the broken wall.” His words so soft, floating across the distance to Brienne, the voice still that of Podrick but the tenor of it changed, now old and sad. “His legs splayed, head bleeding. He dies there…not his body, but his spirit…Gone away with the crows.” 

He paused, still looking down at her but not seeing. Thick tears were shed silently, they slid down his cheeks and landed on her blankets. “Golden hand of the golden lion, forever tarnished. He is destroyed as well, the darkness he dwells in will consume him, the light meant for you taken by another.” He started to shake, falling against the side of her bed as his knees gave way. 

Brienne grabbed his shoulders to keep him from sliding to the floor, and roughly hauled him into the bed, head rested in her lap. She threaded her fingers through his brown curls, the action a small comfort. “You must protect the Stag, give your honor to the dishonorable. Seek out the emptiness and close the maw.” His voice becoming weak and slurred with sleep. 

“Winterfell” the word was a sigh. “We need to go to Winterfell.” With that he drifted off, a child again in her embrace. 

  


Brienne sat on the edge of her bed, anxiously twisting her fingers in her night clothes. She was to leave in the morning, her bags packed and loaded into a small cart that would carry her and Podrick to the dock. He was down in the yard, insistent on checking everything over one last time, patting and shifting the contents of each package until it got on her last nerve, and she left him to his own form of worry. 

There was a light knock on her door and her father entered, his big frame slouched forward. She knew he was also fretting over her leaving, he seemed to have aged years in the few days since she announced that the _ Warrior _had called her to travel to Winterfell, to help the Gods forsaken sot King Robert by weeding out the evil taking root right under his reddened nose. 

Wordlessly he sat down on the bed by her and took her hands in one of his, stopping her fidgeting. With the other hand he produced a small package wrapped in plain linen. “I got you something.” Her father had never been much for words, his love expressed by rumpling her hair or squeezing her tight in his massive arms. She could count on her hands the number of times he had picked out a present for her himself. Not that she found herself wanting for anything, he was one of the most generous people she had ever met, both in spirit and in material wealth. But they both realized the magnitude of the task she faced, the risk involved. There was a very real possibility that she would not make it back to Tarth, and in that light, every word, every gesture took on extra weight. 

She smiled and opened the bundle. Inside were two wide strips of soft, light blue calf leather, embossed in silver with suns and moons, and two thin silver strips of leather lacing. She looked up at her father questioning. “Here let me show you.” He gently took one wrist and wrapped a strip around it, using the silver ties to secure it in place. “It will cover your _ Warrior _ marks. I used to wear something like this, not as dainty mind you, when I would travel outside of Tarth.” The symbols on the leather were delicate, and it was dyed to match the sky over the Narrow sea just after sunset. Wrapped around her wrist it had the appearance of jewelry, and she thought the look suited her, strong and practical, but pretty just the same. 

“I should have given you more presents.” Her father was staring at her face, noting the smile that had appeared as she ran her fingers over the soft material. “I was a poor replacement for your mother. I could have done more.”

Brienne leaned into him, placing her head on his shoulder. “You did enough. You loved me with your entire being. You made me strong. You never judged me or tried to force me to live a life that I would despise. I was the luckiest girl in Westeros.” He kissed the top of her head, and they sat together in silence, fingers intertwined.

“There are people in the world who know about us, who will know_ what you are _ . ” His words suddenly serious. “ The faithful, those who worship the Old Gods and the New, will seek you out. They will recognize the power in you, want to be in your presence, try to help you. ” He paused, turning to look at her face, his own filled with worry. “ Those who embrace the emptiness, who yearn for destruction, they will also know you. _ They will hate you? _” Father and daughter faced each other, matching sets of dark blue eyes, both wide with fear. Neither of them hide their feelings from the other, they never had. 

“Be safe, be careful!” He pulled her into his arms now, gripping her shoulders so tightly that it hurt. “Come back home to me.” He whispered in her ear, and she buried her head on his shoulder. 

  


The trip to Winterfell was miserable. Not wanting to draw attention, they arranged passage to White Harbor with a trader from Tarth. The cabin was cramped, even for one normal sized person, with one tiny cot that they both somehow squeezed into. Thank the Gods Pod was not prone to seasickness, but he talked in his sleep constantly. Brienne found herself awake and on edge most nights, wondering what awful vision he would share next, his head tucked snugly against her back, blissfully unaware. 

Her foul mood did not improve once they reached land. Podrick knew nothing of camping or hunting. His soft hands, and apparently even softer backside, were not suited for riding more than a few hours at a time. Brienne found her patience growing short as she was forced to stop earlier than she would have if left on her own. Over and over she showed him how to start a fire and dress a rabbit, how to build a shelter and pack a saddle bag. In fact, she would have spent the entire journey in a snit, bouncing between anger and frustration, if Pod were not so damned likable. 

He smiled at her looks of exasperation and giggled when she grunted in frustration, bearing her animosity with such good humor that she could not stay vexed for more than a few minutes at a time. Bit by bit he told her of the death of his family when he was four, how he had been passed from one careless keeper to another, until the _ Crone _ gave him the sight and the _ Mother _ blessed his path to Tarth. 

They talked of his dreams, speculated on what they meant and how they could accomplish the task set before them. Whenever Brienne began to doubt herself, wondering aloud why the _ Warrior _ had chosen such an inexperienced, graceless creature to carry out His work, Pod would smile up at her and take her hand. Silently giving his blessing, which was oddly enough.

By the time they reached the outskirts of Winterfell, Brienne was only sure of two things: this was exactly where she was meant to be, and she would walk through Seven Hells to deliver Podrick Payne back to safety. 

Brienne introduced herself to the Winterfell guards as Lady Brienne of Tarth, daughter of the Evenstar and loyal servant of the Crown. She held her face stern to hide how her voice wavered and her hands trembled. If the guards noticed her nerves they did not show it, and they escorted her first to the stables and then through the castle to the great hall, where the royal party and the Starks had just been seated for their mid day meal.

She gave Pod a quick, forced smile. Then, leaning down so that only he could hear, whispered. “They are unlikely to be kind to me Pod.” She met his guileless stare, he frowned with concern, and they stood close, paused just outside the door to the hall. “No matter what they say to me, you are to remain quiet. Do not defend me, do not place yourself in danger for my sake. Do you understand?” He nodded once, a quick jerk of his head, but she saw the fear gathering in the way that he chewed at his lip and squinted to keep his eyes from watering. Standing to her full height, she pulled back her shoulders and placed her hand on the hilt of her sword. She looked ready for battle, gladly she’d faced a hundred armed foes rather than make the long walk to the raised dais with the eyes of Winterfell watching her. 

The voices in the hall stopped, the clinking of her armor and the shuffling of Pod’s feet the only sounds. She looked up at the face of King Robert and found it horribly lacking, and in the back of her mind she hoped that he did not feel the same as he met her stare. She had heard the tales of his valor in battle, the fierce warrior nigh unstoppable with war hammer raised. Yet somehow this mountain of a man felt small, diminished, his face too wide and flushed from liquor, his body swollen and soft. Even his fingers, once able to grasp a weapon with crushing strength, looked round and weak. 

At his right was the Queen. With a pang of jealousy that she tried in vain to suppress, Brienne realized that the rumors of her beauty did not do her justice. She was golden and glorious. Soft curls framing her face, full red lips, and eyes the color of grass in the spring. The picture of feminine grace, everything that Brienne had once dreamed of but could never be. She looked into her eyes expecting to see pity or mirth, Brienne had been judged and found lacking or laughable so many times before, by women much inferior to this one. What she was not expecting was fury, cold and deadly, staring back at her with an emptiness that seemed to pull her in, to drain the life out of her. 

She thought of the merchant who long ago sat at her table smiling and laughing, and later, with that same smile still on his face, held a blade to her father’s throat. The darkness that permeated him was only a drop compared to the swirling sea of black encasing this woman, spilling out to cover all those around her as she sat with a smile that did not reach her eyes. 

She stopped in front of the King and knelt, drawing her sword and laying it flat on her palms, arms outstretched. Summoning all of her courage she spoke the words she had been practicing all the way from Tarth to Winterfell.

“King Robert, I am Brienne of Tarth, daughter of Lord Selwyn Tarth, the Evenstar. I speak on his behalf, he sends his regards and reaffirms his fealty. It has been rumored that Tarth supports Lord Renly Baratheon, the usurper, in his claim to the throne. This is an untruth. Tarth is, as it has always been, loyal to the Crown and as such supports your sovereignty over the Seven Kingdoms. As a sign of our faithfulness, Lord Selwyn has sent me to serve as your sworn sword, so that the allegiance of Tarth should never again be questioned.” She finished her speech and bowed her head, sweat dripping from her brow as she waited for his reply.

She had not expected him to laugh. A rumbling, raging laugh that shook his shoulders as he pounded the table with his fist. “_ Seven bloody Hells _, you’re a woman?” He pounded the table again for emphasis, and stood, leaning forward for a better look. 

“Gods you are ugly.” Brienne stood, their faces now uncomfortably close, his breath reeking of wine, and bits of food stuck in his beard. Robert leaned back, looking down at her with a lecherous sneer. “Why don’t you pull down those breeches and show me whether there is a pecker or a cunt hiding between those thick thighs?” His voice was loud enough to be heard at the back of the hall, and had an ugly, dismissive tone that made Brienne boil inside. “I would ask you to simply raise your shirt, but from the look of it, that would not be particularly revealing.” 

The man sitting to the left of Robert suddenly rose from his chair, placing his hand firmly on the KIng’s shoulder. His kind eyes conveying an apology as he looked to Brienne. “Robert, she is a high born Lady. I know her father, Selwyn Tarth is a good—”

“I don’t give a fuck if Selwyn Tarth is a good man, Ned.” Robert brushed the other man’s hand off, once again leaning forward, anger now deepening the ruddy color of his cheeks. “He should have taught his daughter her place. That the only sword a woman should be wielding is not made of steel.”

Brienne fought to control the anger threatening to take control of her mind, slowing her breaths, focusing on the importance of the job assigned to her. She would not let him defeat her without a fight. 

“Your Grace…” she paused, looking down and forcing herself to say the words she knew would appease him, aware of the cost to her pride. “As you can see I am not fair of face, nor graceful in form. I am not particularly quick witted. I have no skill in the womanly arts. No man would want me for his Lady Wife.” 

The king started laughing again, his fury washed away by the painful truth of her words. She looked up now, meeting his haughty gaze, her blue eyes unflinching. “I was not blessed by the_ Maid _ or the _ Mother _ . I can only assume that the _ Warrior _ looked upon me with pity, that He deemed me worthy to wield a sword and carry a shield as compensation for all that I lack.”

“Let me prove my worth to you. Pick your champion and I will meet him in combat. If I prevail let me serve you, my honor is true, I would protect you with my life”. She stood still and proud in the center of the room, her breath held as she awaited his decision. 

“What say you Clegane?” The King turned to look at the man standing in the shadows behind him. “Ever beat the shit out of a woman before?”

A giant man stepped forward, his ruined face now revealed in the light of the hall. “Can’t say as I have, but I suppose there is a first time for everything.” He looked down at Brienne, no mocking in his eyes, quietly assessing her strength. “Big bitch ain’t ya?” He smiled, one half of his face curling up to reveal darkened teeth, the thick skin of his scar unmoving. “You sure you want to fight? I could find other ways to make your juices flow.”

Brienne opened her mouth to reply, when she was interrupted by the man seated on the far side of the queen. She wondered how she had not noticed him before, and now that she had, she found it difficult to look away. Jaime Lannister had the same golden looks as the Queen, his eyes a darker shade of green, a sparkle in their depths that made her squirm under their scrutiny. His nose was wide, his smile crooked and brimming with sarcasm, and without a doubt, he was by far the most handsome man she had ever met. 

“I believe…as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard,” his words slow and drawling, as if he could barely contain his amusement at the whole situation. “It is my sworn duty to kick any asses in need of kicking.” He was smirking at her now, the challenge blazing in his clever eyes. “Wouldn’t you agree wench?” He let his eyes lazily wander over her body, moving from her lips down to her chest, taking in the length of her legs, before meeting her gaze again.

Brienne turned a furious shade of pink, her mouth suddenly dry. 

“I am happy to accept your challenge Lord Commander.” She forced the words from her lips and turned on her heel, hastily making her way out of the hall and away from these horrible people.

  


_ The woman was enormous. _

Not just tall, which she was, she had at least an inch on him if not two. Her shoulders were also more broad than his, her neck thick with corded muscles likely produced over the years spent beating the daylights out of all the boys on Tarth. He watched as she removed her armor piece by piece and handed it to the boy who was apparently acting as her squire, ridiculous as that idea was. 

Her expression had hardly changed since her arrival. Not while facing the King as he insulted her and questioned her womanhood in front of an entire room full of strangers, not while considering the impossible feat of squaring off against the Hound, and not now while stripping down to her shirt and breeches to meet him in this muddy pit of a training yard. 

Jaime would have thought her mannish face fixed in a permanent scowl, pale blond brows furrowed so tightly as to never release, until he saw her look at the boy. He had finished stacking her armor into careful piles and was now looking down, wiping his hands repeatedly on his pants with a nervous fervor. The big woman crouched down low enough to look him in the eye, gently reached out to take his hands and still his motions, and smiled. 

For a moment Jaime’s breath caught as he stared at her face. It was still ugly. Teeth too large, mouth too wide, jaw too square. And yet when she smiled everything seemed to soften, like looking into a steamed mirror where all the hard edges blurred, and only the impression of the reflection remained. In that moment she was beautiful. Kindness and strength radiated from her mismatched features. 

As if she could hear his thoughts she looked up, startling him a second time with the bluest eyes he had ever seen. Dark like deep water, made even more piercing by the rim of pale lashes. She stared at him, taking his measure, her face quickly pulling back into the sour lines he had already become accustomed to. The shutters closed, concealing the light within. 

She took a practice sword and moved to the center of the yard, long limbs swaying with lanky grace. Wordlessly she bowed to the King then turned to face him, blade held vertically in front of her, muscles relaxed, waiting. 

Jaime faced her from a bench across the yard, legs extended and feet crossed, a look of disinterest on his face. The ugly giantess may intimidate others, but they were not lions. Speed, skill, and cunning would trump brute strength any day. He stood, swinging his sword back and forth testing the balance, and looked briefly to Cersei sitting at the edge of the yard next to Robert. She had her hand covering her mouth and a wicked glint in her eyes, no doubt flaying the Lady of Tarth with words as easily as he would with a sword. He winked at his sister as he slid into position in front of Brienne.

She stood, unmoving, face fixed and unreadable. Jaime had the terrifying thought that she was somehow timing his steps, watching every subtle shift of muscle and bone as if she could know him just by staring long enough. 

Made uncomfortable by her silence, Jaime let out a snort of laughter. “So serious wench…soooo serious.” He waggled his sword in her direction, trying to unnerve her. “Come now let us get this farce over with, I can spank you and send you on your way home before supper time.” At the word spank he raised his eyebrows suggestively, pointing his sword at her and swinging the flat of the blade side to side in a whacking motion. 

She did not flinch. If anything her scowl deepened, lips drawn tight, all emotions hidden behind those damned blue eyes. 

As one they began to circle, legs gracefully crossing over one another as they each moved a few paces to the right, still squared off across the space. Without warning, Jaime lunged at her and delivered a slicing blow, putting as much force and momentum as he could muster into the strike, hoping to end the fight with one move. Just as quickly she raised her sword to block it, the steel clashing with a force that vibrated up his arm, causing the muscles of his shoulder and chest to shake. Shedding his sword in one graceful movement, she stepped back, once again in defensive position. 

Jaime attacked again, quickly moving across the space to meet her, and again she parried the blow, this time her blade wavering just a fraction, a soft grunt of effort escaping her lips. Without hesitation she struck back, her blade whirring through the air, the move made with such speed and fury that he barely was able to react in time to intercept it. 

_ Seven Hells the wench was strong. _

His teeth cracked together as the force of her blow shook his whole body. Her sword slid the length of his, locking at the hilt, and she leaned into the position, taking advantage of her height. Seeing an opening he threw his head forward, slamming his forehead into her chin with a satisfying crunch. She jerked back, blood streaming from her split lip, snarling and spitting at his feet. And for a second time since she met him…_ she smiled. _

Jaime felt her fury, it spread like a living thing across the gap between them, wrapping tight around his chest and making his breath came in short pants. Her expression now all bloody teeth and gums, a big cat showing her fangs. Somewhere deep inside he roared at the challenge, this lioness daring to defy him. A small, barking laugh escaped his lips, her eyes narrowed, and she pounced. 

They exchanged blow after blow, their movements gaining momentum, becoming more synchronized as they learned each others bodies. He lunged and she feigned and just as quickly she reversed direction to attack while he pulled away. Again and again they met, the air filled with the sounds of steel clashing and their ragged breaths.

Everything else faded away, only they existed, the pounding of their hearts and the burning in their lungs. And _ Gods _Jaime felt alive, for the first time in months, perhaps years. He looked at her face, flushed and wet with sweat, her teeth biting at her busted lip in concentration, and he could see that she felt the same. Enraptured by the chance to give in to the fire in her blood. He watched the muscles of her thighs bunch as she lunged forward, her shoulders roll with each swing of her sword. She was meant for this, it was her calling as much as his. 

Brienne lunged hard, shifting her center of balance, a small crack in an otherwise impenetrable attack. Blocking her strike Jaime leaned in close, his chest now rubbing against hers, the heat off her skin stifling even in the cool northern air. Wrapping his foot around her ankle, he took advantage of her unsteady stance and, twisting quickly, levered her to the ground. She landed and rolled to a crouch so smoothly that he had trouble following her movements. He had barely registered her position when she leapt across the distance between them, planting both palms against his chest and knocking him flat on his back. The move was impossible, the strength it took for her to close the gap between them inhuman. 

Her hands felt hot, scorching his chest through his shirt. Mud dripped from her chin mixing with blood, she had somehow managed to cover herself with it when she stumbled, her shirt wet and plastered to her chest left little to the imagination. She sat astride him, her knees locked around his hips, and he could feel the steam rolling off her. He stared up into her face, framed with a halo of silver blond hair sticking off in every direction, and for a minute he would swear to all _ Seven Gods _ that she was glowing. 

Just then she pulled a small dagger from her boot and pressed it to his neck. “Yield,” she said without expression, addressing him directly for the first time since leaving the great hall. 

Jaime’s arousal at the sight and feel of the woman above him caught him by surprise. She was no Cersei, but something about the solid weight of her pressing down on him, the dogged determination and innate goodness that he saw in her, took his breath away and made his blood warm. 

Instantly his desire gave way to embarrassment. The Lord Commander could not be found mooning at some ugly brute of a girl, his cock hard against her thigh as they lay in a pile of mud. He feigned a rakish expression before grasping her hips tightly and thrusting up between her legs, dirty water squelching between them as he ground himself against her. Her mouth fell open, and he felt her hot breath on his face as she exhaled quickly, making a small, shocked sound. 

“Come now sweetling,” he cooed. “If you wanted a roll in the dirt with me you simply had to ask. Although… I would hate to dirty my white cloak.” He was grinning up at her, enjoying the bright red blush that was slowly rising from beneath her stained shirt. 

Her face hardened, and she leaned in close so that only he would hear, the wet warmth of her bloodied mouth pressed against his temple. “From what I have heard, one would hardly notice a little more mud on your cloak.” She pushed off him with a grunt, and strode away, not sparing a backwards glance. 

Without preamble she reclaimed her weapon, approached the King and knelt in the muck, palms out, her sword once again offered in service. Robert shook his head, a look of befuddlement on his broad face. He laughed, but this time his voice contained no malice or anger, only appreciation. There were no snide comments, no judging looks. He openly accepted the allegiance she offered, as Brienne swore to protect him with her life. 

  



	6. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne found herself staring at Jaime in the firelight of the Great Hall, watching as he laughed with his brother and joked with the other Kingsguard. In those moments he seemed to radiate that divine light, and the wishful, girlish part of her imagined that when he was born he had been twice as bright as normal men, the antithesis to his sister. She wondered if the beauty of the man had blinded her to the truth of his nature, if she was simply seeing what she wanted to see. 
> 
> Brienne sincerely hoped it was not so, unwilling to face the possibility that he was as lost as his sister, with nothing left for her to save. If necessary she would destroy him, but she admitted to herself, reluctantly, that part of her would be devastated by he act. She vowed from that night forward to pray to the Warrior, and the Mother, and…seven bloody hells… the Stranger if needed for the tarnished soul of Jaime Lannister. 

To her bewilderment, Brienne liked being in Winterfell. Certainly it was colder than what she was accustomed to, the ground perpetually wet from the penetrating drizzle that they called waning summer. She missed the warmth of Tarth, the warmth of her home, but she liked the Starks. They were a welcoming family. 

Lady Catelyn made her feel at home, gave her comfortable quarters with a fireplace and a soft bed. She offered Podrick a room of his own which Brienne politely refused, insisting on keeping him close and out of trouble. 

The Lady Stark gazed at Brienne when she was otherwise preoccupied, paying particular attention to her wrists when they chatted. Brienne thought back to the people of whom her father spoke, the faithful, the ones that would recognize her otherness without asking. In her host, she saw such a devout person. Many evenings they gathered at the end of the dais, Lady Stark speaking in hushed tones to Brienne, describing the various members of the royal entourage, who to trust and who to avoid on her way to King's Landing. 

The King was a puzzlement to Brienne. Robert Baratheon was apparently one of Lord Stark’s oldest friends, once a remarkable fighter, and yet she could see nothing in him that would appeal to such a straightforward man as Eddard Stark. The King was a lush and a womanizer, often found with one hand wrapped around the waist of a serving maid while the other groped the thigh of the Queen. She wondered what had happened to this man to make him completely lose his way, to abandon all the noble ideals and practices that had once led men to follow him, to be willing to die for him. 

With growing certainty Brienne believed the culprit was the Queen, she the source of the depravity that was slowly consuming the royal family. Cersei Lannister was a beautiful shell, a paper thin vessel straining to contain an all encompassing darkness. Overwhelming lust and greed, fearsome rage spilling over onto everyone that she touched. She felt sure that whatever man King Robert used to be, he had been washed away in the wake of Cersei’s unholy desires. 

Prince Joffrey was also adrift in the darkness, no spark of light in his young, fair face. His artifice was less practiced than the Queen, the malice and rot closer to the surface, making him prone to rage and violence. 

Each night Brienne sat in her chamber, contemplating the dark truths wriggling below the surface, binding and tormenting the family of the man to whom she had pledged her loyalty, and every time she found herself envisioning the face of Jaime Lannister. She could see the same darkness that dwelled in his sister on him, coating him, the same lust and greed, the same arrogance, the same tendency toward domination and violence. Cersei had poured her venom into him, likely from the moment that together they had slipped from their mother’s womb. He had bathed in it, corrupted and twisted for so many years that he could not see the truth of what they had become together.

Inexplicably, the light of the _ Mother _ still resided within him. A dim flicker glowing at his core. Brienne found herself staring at Jaime in the firelight of the Great Hall, watching as he laughed with his brother and joked with the other Kingsguard. In those moments he seemed to radiate that divine light, and the wishful, girlish part of her imagined that when he was born he had been twice as bright as normal men, the antithesis to his sister. She wondered if the beauty of the man had blinded her to the truth of his nature, if she was simply seeing what she wanted to see. 

Brienne sincerely hoped it was not so, unwilling to face the possibility that he was as lost as his sister, with nothing left for her to save. If necessary she would destroy him, but she admitted to herself, reluctantly, that part of her would be devastated by the act. She vowed from that night forward to pray to the _ Warrior_, and the _ Mother_, and…seven bloody hells…the _ Stranger _if needed, for the tarnished soul of Jaime Lannister. 

The next few weeks at Winterfell passed quickly, Brienne did not mind spending time with Lady Stark and her children. She avoided the King as much as possible, but she trained with his men who soon began to show her a begrudging tolerance, gradually shifting to acceptance and hesitant admiration. 

The first couple of soldiers knocked onto their asses by Brienne in the training yard rose, red faced and sputtering, to the jeers of their comrades. Systematically she challenged each member of the Kingsguard, one by one, defeating them, always with humility and grace, reaching down to help them up, greeting them with a crooked grin and a pat on the shoulder. Her lessons were delivered with a kind smile and a soft voice. Later she would quietly pull them aside, explain where the weaknesses in their defense lie and how she had bested them. 

Brienne soon had all the men entranced with her battle prowess. They came to her with questions regarding armor and weapons, for lessons on how to improve their footwork or steady their sword grip. She made them work twice as hard as before she arrived, and they went along, wanting to earn her praise.

King Robert started visiting the practice yard, sitting on a dais raised above the wall with a comfortable royal seat, looking down as Brienne worked with his soldiers. He would drag Jaime along, making him sit at his side as he commented on his new lady knight’s astonishing skills, each day pointing out a part of her body that he found particularly arousing. 

“Imagine what she could do to a man’s cock with those rugged hands, eh Lannister?” He shouted over the din of clashing swords one bright morning, his face already flushed from imbibed spirits. “Doesn’t it make you regret taking the White?” He guffawed and slapped him on the back, after that referring to Brienne as “the Lord Commander’s Hand.”

While the first few times he was cajoled into coming, Jaime soon found that he enjoyed watching her dance with a sword. She commanded men like someone born to it, stern and honorable. They flocked to her with looks of awe. He never once saw her be unkind, never mocking or condescending. Even when he could tell by the little furrow between her brows and the tight pull of her lips that her considerable patience was nearing its limits, she held her tongue. She treated the new recruits with respect, commending them for the smallest improvement. The more seasoned fighters she propped up, speaking of how strong or quick they were, encouraging the younger men to go to them for mentorship. Within a few weeks, she had the group functioning as one, every fighter improved by her discipline. 

Jaime stared at Brienne for hours at a time, unable to stop even when others noticed his interest, she mesmerized him. The King would rise, standing over him for long seconds with a knowing grin and raised eyebrows, then give a low, lewd laugh as he sauntered away, often without Jaime noticing his leaving. At first, he told himself that it was her peculiarity among her gender, the manliness of her features, her unnatural strength and inordinate size that made him look. He tried to fool himself into thinking that watching her interactions with his men was just part of his responsibility, making sure she was training them properly. 

In truth, there was something about her that _ called _to him, a pureness of spirit and a transcendence in her movements that was not of mortal men. During particularly hard matches, sweat would glisten on her pale skin, and she would spin in the sunlight making his chest clench and his blood scorch. He found himself believing that she should be the one wearing his white cloak. The Lord Commander’s armor suited her better than him. 

  


Brienne smiled up at the sunshine, it was finally pleasant and nearly dry, and she and Pod were spending the morning together training, without an audience for the first time in weeks. The King had taken Ned Stark hunting and, thankfully, had not insisted that she tag along. She had no desire to spend any additional time traipsing about the woods when she had a long journey to the capital looming in the near future.

Podrick was still a very poor fighter. His stance was too wide and off balance, his wrist too weak to control the movement of even a light practice sword. Still, Brienne loved training with him. He laughed so easily, bending double with happy tears as he slipped on the slick grass, grabbing hold of her sleeve and almost pulling her down with him. She scowled, chiding that he was more likely to kill himself with his own weapon than even nick an opponent, but he rolled his eyes and clumsily twirled around her hacking with abandon at the air in mock fury. She waited stoically, hands on hips, until he composed himself, and with a slightly sheepish expression resumed a defensive position. 

Brienne was once again set to adjust his grip when his eyes shifted, focusing on something behind her. He went limp, dropping his sword to his side, shoulders falling, soft brown eyes glassy as he stared.

“Podrick?” She dropped her weapon and grabbed his shoulders, but he did not look up, did not acknowledge her presence. 

“The boy…the broken boy by the broken tower. He’s there, climbing.” His words took on the flat, sing-song quality that she had come to associate with his visions, face devoid of all expression. “The lion is there too, smothered in darkness, surrendering his will, his actions are vile.” At this, his voice started to shake. He tucked his head to his chest and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block what his mind was seeing. “He has done horrible things, but this…_ this _ is worse. He will be lost… both so lost.” His eyes opened suddenly, focusing on Brienne with a look of urgency. He grabbed her hands on his shoulders and squeezed them tightly. “Hurry! Brienne hurry, don’t let him fall! Save him…save them!” With that he pointed in the direction of a crumbling tower, the ragged top just visible over the edge of the training yard wall.

Brienne took off at a sprint, aware that she looked outrageous as she barreled through the Winterfell grounds in her leather training jacket and dirty boots, hair sweaty and curling around her ears. She made her way to the tower Pod had pointed to, and sure enough, Brandon Stark was there, ten feet up off the ground, using crevices from missing mortar and jagged edges of broken rocks as footholds to climb. He was moving at a good clip, his strong hands and lithe body scrambling across the surface with ease. 

“Hey boy!” She yelled up at him, using her most commanding tone. “Get down before you kill yourself.” He turned to stare at her over his shoulder, and for a minute she was taken aback by how much his eyes reminded her of Podrick, the same warm brown color, same otherworldly, haunted stare. “Who are you to tell me to get down?” His tone was impudent, flippant, and she immediately decided that he was nothing like Pod. 

“Someone who will go and fetch your mother…Someone who will yank your scrawny arse down if I have to.” Brienne was losing her patience now, this slip of a boy defying her when she had come so far to save him. His mouth split in a wide grin, and his eyes lit up, taking her threat as a challenge. “Not if you don’t catch me! Race you to the top ‘Lady Commander’.” He was moving quickly, laughing now as he shouted over his shoulder “Perhaps you prefer ‘the King’s big woman’, since the soldiers seem to favor that one.”

With a growl Brienne started climbing. Her weight was not suited for it, but her legs and arms were long enough to allow her to span large gaps, and she was gaining on him. In short measure she caught up, grabbing his leg as he frantically tried to evade her grasp. “Let go!” He shouted, shaking his leg and trying to dislodge her. “Do not make me climb down one handed with you swinging by your ankle, Brandon Stark. I am in no mood for your stupidity, you little shit!” She was roaring at him now, her fury real, face flushed and muscles trembling with anger. The boy took one look at her face and paled, all resistance fleeing in a wash of fear. He began to descend toward her slowly, the backward motion taking more strength and coordination.

Bran rushed in his haste to reach the ground, likely planning to run off without further reprimand, when he missed a foothold and slipped. Tumbling off the wall he slammed into Brienne, knocking her grip loose. As she fell, she wrapped her arms around the Stark boy, pulling him to her chest, together they slid along the last five feet of jagged tower wall. Her calf bounced against the rough surface, sharp stone digging into the muscle and skin, tearing a ragged, deep gash. She landed on her back with a thud, the boy landing safely on her chest, both panting and shaken, but alive. 

He jumped up and turned to face her, his cocky demeanor replaced with remorse. “I-I’m sorry Lady Tarth.” He looked down at his feet, unable to meet her gaze. “Please...don’t tell my mother.” And with that he was running back toward the keep.

Brienne sprawled on the soft ground, looking up at the dark stones stretching skyward above her. Her eyes caught on a window, and as she stared at the shadows on the frame shifted. Narrowing her gaze, she was unable to see into the dimness beyond. She kept still for a few more minutes, sorting through the pain to determine whether she had any broken bones, her mind finally settling on the burning sensation in her calf. She looked down at the slowly collecting pool of blood under her leg, then tore off the already tattered hem of her shirt, using it to stop the flow. She stood with a grimace and moved to lean against the tower, hidden in shadow, and waited. 

The Queen emerged from the tower door first, looking regal and unruffled. Head high, back straight, she strode off toward the keep without a backward glance. With a jolt Brienne turned away, flattening against the wall, unable to look at the viperish, beautiful woman. Such evil resided within her, a deep well of fury and perversion, it caused the blood of the _ Warrior _ flowing in Brienne’s veins to boil in response. Agonizing pressure built behind her eyes, her head pounded, her heart raced and her muscles ached. The warm feeling she always carried just below her skin flared into a roaring fire, her wrists smoldered beneath the wrappings. Brienne gritted her teeth and held her ground, and as the Queen moved away the pain subsided. Still she watched the doorway, waiting for _ him _to exit next.

Jaime Lannister had stayed behind what he deemed a reasonable amount of time before following his sister, _ his lover, _ out of the tower door. He appeared normal. _ Relaxed and sated, _ thought Brienne with a wave of disgust. Her mind envisioning exactly what they had been doing to produce such a satisfied look on his face. Even so, her reaction to him was not the same as she felt in the Queen’s presence. She was certainly repulsed by his immoral actions, his lack of honor, his soiling of sacred vows and betrayal of his King. And yet, after spending several weeks in his presence, Brienne did not feel the same darkness _ within _him. It was layered on him, a thick stain, made by years of lying sinfully with his twin, of acquiescing to her will, but the center of him seemed unpenetrated, whole and pure. 

Jaime had only taken a few steps in the direction of the castle when he stopped short, stumbling as if in pain and gripping his chest. He turned slowly, his eyes focused on the ground below the window where minutes before Brienne had landed. His face was ashen, mouth open, a look of horror about his eyes. Brienne had heard tales of people experiencing visions of their own death, knew the expression “someone walking on your grave”. Never had she given much credence to it, silly stories told to frighten children, until now. There was no mistaking the look on his face, Jaime Lannister was a man facing his own mortality. 

  


Jaime was losing his fucking mind. That was the only explanation for the cold that started like a breeze tickling the hairs at the back of his neck, brushing his shoulders before solidifying into an icy hand that ran down his spine, sliding through him and squeezing his heart. It made him stop in his tracks, clutch his chest, and look behind him to see what had caused such agonizing pain. 

At first glance there was nothing. Then he saw him_ , the Stark boy _, lying broken on the sodden ground beneath the tower window. His head on a rock, blood collecting in the indentation made on impact with the soft soil. Legs pointed in different directions, ruined beyond repair. Most terrifyingly his eyes were open, wide brown orbs looking up at Jaime with a peaceful expression, not accusing, nor afraid. 

The boy blinked and his eyes went white, his voice vacant, “The ties between us are severed. Lion and Wolf, both lost in guilt and misery, now reborn. _ She _ has set us free.” His eyes shifted, brown once more, looking to the window above. Jaime followed his gaze and saw a man leaning out over the sill, and gasped as his face… _ HIS FACE _ looked down at the boy, then at him. The wind blew through the yard, scarlet Weirwood leaves rushed by, as both the boy and the man in the window faded. 

Jaime was not breathing, not moving, the thrashing of his heart in his chest out of place in the stillness. When he looked up, Brienne of Tarth was standing at the far edge of the tower wall, her blue eyes boring holes into his very soul. Her mouth was moving, and it took him a moment to focus on the sound, to hear the words that drifted across the space. “You are more than this Jaime Lannister…more that what she sees in you… more than what you have become in her embrace. You are not condemned to exist this way, a wretch of a man. You can _ choose _ to be more.” With that the big woman lowered her eyes and quietly walked away, not sparing him another glance.

  


Brienne wrapped her cloak more tightly around her, the wind cutting even with the sun so bright. She limped slightly, although few who did not know her well would notice, the wound from the fall at the tower still red and weeping.

_ It will scar _. 

She glared at the gash with disgust, but quickly pushed the thought away. Her skin already bore so many from years of combat, each one a price she had gladly paid to find herself here, her actions sparing a life, righting a future. If the _Warrior_ demanded his pound of flesh, so be it. 

_I already look like a quilt cobbled together with scrap material,_ _what good to fret over one more_.

She approached the Weirwood tree with reverence, lowering her chin to her chest. Kneeling below its low hanging branches she collected a few leaves from the forest floor and began to grind them in her palm. From her pack she added healing herbs and a few drops of water blessed by the septon of Evenfall hall. She warmed the mixture with her hands and placed the poultice over the wound.

She was still crouched, adjusting the bandage, when she heard soft footsteps approaching. Catelyn Stark reached the sacred ground, auburn hair catching the reflection of sunlight off the blood-red leaves and glowing like embers. “Lady Brienne” she called, smiling up at her and squinting, “What brings you to the Weirwood Heart tree this fine day?” She stopped a few feet in front of Brienne, a kind, a questioning look on her face. 

Tentatively, she reached out with both hands, delicate fingers stroked the wraps covering Brienne’s wrists. “I would have thought you worshipped elsewhere. A Southerner like myself usually follows the _ Seven _.” Brienne looked down to Lady Stark’s hands, holding tightly to her covered wrists, reverence in her actions. Her lips tilted up at the corners, a shadow of a smile, as she met the older woman’s gaze. “The Chosen respect all the gods, old and new. I may follow one path, but I can see the virtue in another.” Brienne replied plainly, unwilling to hide her true nature from Lady Stark. She found her to be a strange combination of courtesy and brutal honesty. A refreshing change in a world abound with deceitfulness.

With a sudden frantic look Catelyn leaned close, her words charged with urgency. “You do not have to go with _ them.” _ The revulsion she felt for the King and his companions evident, spitting the last word into the air in front of her.

“Stay here, serve the Stark family.” A note of pleading entered her voice, as if trying to save the maid from some terrible fate awaiting her in court. Perhaps she simply understood how much the tall, awkward young woman would hate it there. Brienne wondered if Catelyn Stark knew more than she let on, if she too saw the black rot festering inside the Queen.

“We are a strong, honest people. The North is too brutal a place not to respect the gods, we understand the price of faithlessness…” Her voice trailed off, as her grip tightened on Brienne’s wrists. 

“It is my duty, I have been called to go where the _ Warrior _sends me.” The words delivered without sadness, the determination in Brienne’s eyes fierce and unwavering. Gently she extracted her wrists from Lady Stark’s grasp. “Maybe in a different lifetime. I believe I would have liked the North. It would have been a blessing to serve your family.”

The older woman sighed in acceptance. “So be it. I will leave you to your worship Lady Brienne.” She bowed her head, turning to leave the way she came.

Brienne closed her eyes, the steady tap, tap, tap of the Weirwood branches calling to her. _ Whispers in the rustle of leaves. The sound of a sword’s swing through the air…tears. _

“My Lady!” The words burst from her lips, formed by a will not completely her own. “His Grace has asked Lord Stark to accompany him to King’s Landing?” The question was heavy with implication, and the air stilled around them. Catelyn Stark nodded, a closed and wary expression settling on her face. Brienne hesitated, suddenly unsure of how her warning would be received. She was a stranger, her counsel not sought, caution may be misconstrued as treason. But to ignore it…_ The Gods spoke so rarely. _

“He must not go.” Her words rang clear in the crisp air. No hesitation, no doubt, a command. Lady Stark met her eyes, understanding passing between them. “A lion’s den is no place for a lone wolf,” Brienne continued, “He should stay in the North, his family will have need of him. Winter is coming.” 

Brienne sat astride her large bay colored mare anxiously awaiting their departure, black cloak whipping in the wind. King Robert had insisted that his new sworn sword wear his colors, so Lady Catelyn and Sansa had worked furiously to make a set of cloaks for the trip, a heavy fur lined one for the northern portion of the journey and a second made of velvet for her entrance into King’s Landing. Both had a large gold stag embroidered on a black background, edged with little gold leaves that they said would remind her of the Godswood at Winterfell. The velvet cloak reversed to gold, in place of leaves adorned with tiny black moons and stars. 

The work was so delicate and beautiful, Brienne was left speechless by the thoughtful gift. She sat with the women in silence, fingering the embroidery, her eyes lowered and misty, wishing she could stay here and protect this family from the terrors of the long winter to come.

Ned Stark had refused the position of the Hand of the King. She heard the old friends arguing heatedly behind closed doors. The King raged about broken loyalty and lost honor, while Ned spoke of wanting to protect his family and his fealty to the North. In the end they parted as friends, or at least on amicable terms, Lord Stark promising to consider his offer in the future and to visit eventually, family in tow. Sansa Stark looked distraught at not visiting the capital, her head already filled with visions of courtly life and marrying a prince. Still, Brienne had seen the way Joffrey looked at her, like a beast with a new toy or a tasty chunk of meat, and she secretly rejoiced that the girl would stay in the North with her mother. 

She met Lady Catelyn’s stare as the news was announced, smiling ever so slightly, so subtle that only she would know. The Lady smirked in return, her cool blue eyes glinting with satisfaction knowing her pack would remain whole. 

King Robert announced that Brienne should ride just behind him, beside Ser Jaime, so that they could get to know each other as they would be working “very closely” together. He said the words slowly, enunciating each syllable, with a slight slur to his tone that implied something indecent in the interaction. If possible, the Lord Commander seemed even less excited than she about spending the trip together as he sat astride his white palfrey, while cloak blowing behind him. 

In a sudden fit of vanity she realized that anyone comparing would have a rather uncharitable view of her, the black only serving to blanch her pale features, while Jaime seemed to glow more golden wrapped in white. There was nothing for it, the King had made up his mind, so they sat side by side, in forced, uncomfortable companionship. Her only consolation being she would not have to interact much with the Queen who was in her own carriage further back in the procession. 

The Hound was to ride behind her. He waited in silence, not speaking to anyone, but laughing at odd times whenever the King or Ser Jaime spoke to her. He seemed to find their attention toward Brienne immensely amusing for some reason that she could not fathom. All together they made for a miserable group, and she feared it would be a very long journey to the capital. 

Brienne sat silently, watching as the campfire slowly faded, occasionally standing to hoist a log and place it on the fire. She had been unable to sneak away and pray as was her habit, and so she sat peacefully, staring into the flames. Reaching out to the _ Warrior, _ asking for guidance, for patience and wisdom. She felt so far from home, smothered by the presence of these loathsome people. 

Her eye was drawn to movement across the small clearing, and a tent flap parted. Ser Jaime exited quietly into the night. He stood still for a moment, getting his bearings, eyes searching, before he looked across to where she was seated. 

He hesitated, pausing as he met her gaze. Then, seeming to come to some decision, he moved to sit on the log next to her, facing the fire. She stared unabashedly at his face. He truly was a beautiful man. The light from the fire illuminated him from below, catching the ridge of his jaw, the high cheekbones and firm mouth. He was a golden statue made flesh. For a moment she enjoyed the sensation of sharing the same space with such a breathtaking creature.

“Do I live up to your expectations?” He said with a drawl, a low rumbling quality to his voice that made the hairs on her neck stand up and snapped her out of her thoughts. She met his eyes. There was a false playfulness in them, feigning kitten when there was a lion poised to strike just below the surface. Brienne looked away quickly, unnerved by his stare. “I have no expectations about you, Ser,” she replied, shifting her feet and picking up a stick to poke at the fire. 

“Come now,” he continued, his voice rich and flowing, at odds with the coldness she felt radiating from him. “Surely you have heard tales of the golden Lannister twins. Beautiful on the outside to cover the filth within. What would such a man be doing at this time of night? Naught good I would wager.”

Brienne of course had heard the rumors of the golden twins, even on Tarth they spoke of the disdainful Queen and her Kingslayer brother, both gorgeous and ruthless, each so enamored with their own reflection that they could only love the other. Behind closed doors, they spoke of golden bastards passed off as Baratheon. She knew better now, her time in Winterfell confirmed that the worst of the rumors only skimmed the surface of the twisted relationship between them. 

Without doubt she knew where Jaime was headed alone in the dark. The Queen had her own tent set aside from the others. The King was exceedingly drunk by the time he staggered to his own tent placed a noticeable distance from hers. It would be so easy…

Brienne stared at Jaime Lannister for a long time, she did not anger at his provocation, and the night grew still as she silently assessed the man beside her. Her eyes drifted from his face to the fire, and in its depths she saw a woman with delicate features and golden hair so similar to his that she must be his kin. She was praying to the _ Mother, _ begging absolution, crying out for a miracle…

“I think…,” She paused, the words caught in her throat as she forced herself to meet his judgmental gaze. “That you are a man who wears his dishonor for all to see.” He jerked backward, and she could see the rage building in his piercing green eyes. “You cover yourself with it as a hunter rubs the scent of his prey upon himself before entering the woods. Using it to cloak the man beneath, the man you do not wish for _ her _ to see.” She tipped her head in the direction of the Queen’s tent.

Jaime was snarling now, his lips curled back from his teeth, his brows furrowed. He leaned toward her, crouching low ready to pounce, “_ And what do you think I am _, underneath this cloak of deception that only your clever mind can discern?” His tone dripping with sarcasm, he locked eyes with her and waited.

“I think you are a child of the _ Mother _ …a prayer answered…a small light in overwhelming darkness…a last hope. I meant what I said before, there is more to you than what _ she _ has allowed you to be.” The words were said softly, without pretense or judgement. The certainty of her conviction reaching him across the distance.

Brienne watched the ire fade from his features as they settled first into a blank expression and then sank further into a look that threatened to crumple in on itself with sorrow. She pondered briefly how it would feel to watch such a proud man fall apart completely.

Jaime turned away, his face vacant, “You don’t know me.” The whisper so faint, it was almost lost in the crackle of the fire. “I’ve done horrible things. I’m no one’s answered prayer.” He gripped the log with both hands, leaning forward as if in pain, searching the fire for absolution, for relief from his self-loathing. 

Without speaking Brienne cautiously slid her hand across the space between them, covering his with her own. The desire to comfort him was overwhelming, forcing her to act without her usual second guessing and restraint. Her boldness startled her, she was suddenly afraid of what he might say, how he would react to her big, rough hand touching his in a manner that was too intimate. 

She felt him tremble at the touch, his face turning to search hers with a confused expression, but he did not pull away. Instead he gently turned his hand over, threading his fingers through hers, squeezing slightly. He looked down at their joined hands with wonderment, before turning again to the fire. 

_ Oh Gods, what had she done? _

Brienne had not taken into consideration that she might be affected by his soft touch, that her response to him could be anything other than cool indifference or at best soothing reassurance. She realized with a sudden panic how unprepared she was for this, that the only men she had touched with tenderness were her family and Pod. 

Her fingers started shaking, she struggled to still the motion, only making it worse. Her hand vibrating against his so furiously that he was sure to notice. Breath hitched in her throat and her stomach flipped. She felt her face flushing and turned back to the fire in an attempt to conceal the sudden burning of her skin. 

Beside her Jaime smiled, a sweet expression that made the skin around his eyes crinkle, ignoring her obvious discomfort. They sat unspeaking, fingers entwined, for what seemed to Brienne an interminable time, but was likely only a few minutes. Eventually he released her hand and stood, he bowed slightly, each avoiding the other’s eyes. In silence he walked back to his tent, Brienne wondered how someone could survive being so broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to take a minute to thank anyone who is sill reading this, especially thank you for sticking it out through the “Cersei chapters”. We are not done with her, but I will try to make the Jaime and Brienne relationship that develops worth your patience. This is a story of spirituality, of good vs. evil, and of redemption. Maybe a little comfort for those of you disappointed by the lack of redemption that the show gave us in the end. Please leave comments and let us know exactly what you think, how it was good and how it could be better. 
> 
> Thank you to Ro for agreeing to try writing with me in the first place, for tolerating my crazy insecurities and endless questions. Thank you to Meriwyn for being my secret beta and therapist. Thank you to Sari for all the good suggestions (Pod really did belong in this story) and always telling me what she thinks. Thank you to sameboots for just listening to me whine and her guidance on writing in general. Thank you to NightReaderEnigma for being so gracious with her time and feedback. And thank you to JailynnW for your overwhelming support and kindness, you’re our number one cheerleader. Anyone I missed, I’m sorry, it was not intentional.


	7. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why did he care if the rotten bastard took her purity? What was Brienne of Tarth to him anyway? Jaime’s mind was suddenly filled with images of Cersei, lying bruised and defiled, as this massive man rutted into her, his stink and sweat covering her, his seed spilling sticky between her legs. The face of his sister shifted into that of Brienne, her usual proud stubbornness replaced by shame and despair, silently weeping, blood coating her thighs and smeared across the bedroll. He had not been able to save Cersei, had not been there when his father had sacrificed her body to Robert in exchange for a pittance of power, a seat at the small council. This time he could do something, this woman he could save.

** Chapter 6 **

Brienne sat astride her horse, staring at the backside of the king and listening to Ser Jaime prattle on to whoever would listen about some campaign or another, Gods the man could run his mouth. For her part, Brienne was enjoying the fact that they had travelled south enough for it to warm slightly, she had pulled off the fur cloak and was now wearing the velvet one, gold side out.She grinned to herself as she looked around, all the glum men wearing their black outfits. At least she stood out, even though the color was no better suited to her fair skin. 

From behind she heard someone calling her name and turned to see the Queen riding up behind her. Cersei sat sidesaddle on her mare, beckoned it to go faster until she pulled up close besides. “Lady Brienne, I see you have much improved from your injury. It was fortuitous you appeared just at the right time to stop that poor child from falling to his death. Lady Stark would have lost that boy for sure…maybe now the naughty runt has learned his lesson, eh? No more climbing up towers where he doesn’t belong.” Brienne caught her breath, the sudden appearance of the woman making her stomach roll,inadvertently jerking her horse's reins making it stutter. 

“Come, ride with me.” 

The Queen pulled back a distance and Brienne followed, separating them from the rest of the party. They rode along in silence, Brienne looking straight ahead as Cersei glanced sideways, lips curling, not bothering to hide the cruel slant of her mouth. She could feel her staring at her, taking her time, looking up and down her long body with a mix of curiosity and distain. It made her skin burn, she was barely controlling the urge to either run or knock the woman off her horse. 

“Do you ever speak, Tarth? No wonder the men like you.” She laughed, and bile rose in Brienne’s throat, lust and vengeance bubbling in the current of the other woman’s voice. “They watch over you, your strength, your skill with a sword, your…physical attributes.” She paused for emphasis, her eyes sliding along her back, down her legs, before returning to her face. The Queen touched her tongue to her lips, want passing quickly through her eyes. “You have produced quite the cockstand melee, all those male, animalistic needs rising to the surface. Do not get me wrong, you’re an ugly maid, nothing can change that…but you can _best_ them, throw them down and throttle them. Their comrade and champion, you have seduced them all.Even my sweet brother.” She met Brienne’s eyes then, the pretense of polite conversation dropped, rage burning in her green eyes. “If given the chance they all would fuck you bloody.” 

Brienne recoiled, the vicious, vulgar words spewing from such a lovely mouth disorienting. _She felt so damn hot._ Pulse swishing in her ears, head full to bursting, palms so sweaty she was having trouble gripping the reins. 

“Such a pity, a proud woman bound to a fumbling, aging, drunken fool of a king. He will take you himself if he has the chance. Of course, you know what they say, a man’s attention is as long as his cock, andHis Grace…” She grinned, a horrible toothy thing that made Brienne shutter. “Well, his attention span is particularly short.” 

“Perhaps I need a Queensguard.” She continued, no longer waiting for a reply, the menace coating her words.“That squire of yours could serve Joffrey instead. Innocent lad like that, I bet the prince could show him a trick or two.” Pulling up on her reins, the Queen forced Brienne to follow suit, leaning into her with a malicious look, snapping her jaws.“What say you Lady Tarth, would you like to be my knight?” She blinked at her flirtatiously. 

Brienne stared in revulsion. Fury, cold and dangerous, settling in her core at the mention of Pod. _She would disembowel every fucking Baratheon, every bastard Lannister in King’s Landing, and personally shove their heads on spikes, before she allowed any harm to come to him. _The violence of her thoughts shocked her, she shook her head to clear it. Cersei was affecting her, the depravity spreading like a plague, clouding her judgement, twisting her emotions. She needed to move, to put some distance between the wretched woman and herself before she blacked out from the pain and anger coursing through her. 

“Thank you, my Queen. I am honored to serve both you and your family, and I shall keep your counsel. In the future I will separate myself from the men. There is no need for incident, you need not worry for my virtue, I assure you it is safe.” With swift pressure of her thighs, her horse took off in a gallop, freeing Brienne from the slithering murkiness that permeated the very air around her.

Brienne charged through the woods, low hanging limbs sticking in her hair like pointy fingers, scratching her scalp and cheeks. Thickets of briars covered the ground here, far off the trails where no one wandered to beat them down. They snagged on her pants legs, tearing at the skin underneath. Still she stumbled forward, a singleminded goal of getting as far away from the encampment, from the Queen, as her long legs would take her.

Gods she was crying. 

She swatted at her cheeks, trying to beat away the weakness and fear she felt in the awful woman’s presence. Slowing to a walk, shoulders bowed forward, she held her head in both hands to stop the spinning sensation that had tormented her since the Queen pulled beside her and threatened her…and Pod.

Fear she could overcome, weakness she could shoulder and defeat…but the rage. It was consuming her. A molten pit in her center, spreading outward and burning though everything in its path. She ground her teeth and clenched her fists, leaning her head back she bellowed a deafening scream, her voice breaking on the sound, shaking into a sob. Collapsing onto her knees in the fallen leaves, she let momentum carry her forward until her elbows sunk into the soft soil.

She was burning, the blood of the _Warrior_ flaming out of her control, incinerating everything in its path. Perhaps she truly was too weak to carry it. For the first time she felt fragile, ready to shatter into a million bits, leaving only the ashes of her on the forest floor. She watched with fascination as smoke gathered under her palms, scraps of kindling lighting and turning to embers. Kneeling in silence as tiny flames spurted out from under her fingers, until she beat her palms on the ground, trying in desperation to tamp them out. 

She was desperate to calm the blazing heat inside her, to find some relief from the torture flowing through her veins. There was a stream nearby, they had sent men to gather water shortly after stopping for the night, and if she listened closely she could just hear the burble of it in the distance. With a groan she picked herself up and half stumbled, half ran in the direction of the sound, eventually spotting the reflection off the water just beyond the tree line. 

Without slowing she yanked at her clothes, discarding them piece by piece between the woods and the shore. She moaned as her toes sunk into the cool silty bottom,smooth stones shifting under her feet.With long strides she pushed out into the current, frigid water splashing up onto her stomach and chest as she went.To anyone else the temperature would have been unpleasant, unbearable even, but it felt like a salve to her scorching skin. Steam rose from her thighs as she walked, circling around her arms as she dragged them across the surface, finally reaching a place deep enough to crouch down completely,She sank to the soft bottom of the stream, submerged up to her collarbone, and with a sigh leaned back, letting the water flow under her neck, rolling through her hair. 

He was hunting, again. Why this big, lumbering man so loved tramping around in the woods killing little animals was beyond Jaime, but Robert insisted he needed his guard’s protection. So here he was, following him around like a fool, thinking that the most likely thing to fell the king out here was an unnoticed tree root combined with the man’s own considerable girth. 

The cry startled them both, part howl, part scream, filled with pain, and frustration.A desperation in the sound forcing Jaime to take note, his feet moving in the direction it came from before his mind could sort out exactly what had made the sound.

They reached the edge of the woods just as Lady Brienne came storming out of the trees further down the shoreline. For a moment Jaime was convinced she was injured, her face twisted in pain and her eyes wet. He started to go to her, the instinct to help her, comfort her somehow, hitting him like a blow to the gut as he lurched forward. 

It was only then that he noticed that she was half clothed. Her shirt already discarded, she was hopping on one foot, trying to simultaneously roll down her breeches and yank off her boots.It was comical, he should have been laughing, but there was a fear and urgency in her actions that stopped the sound before it had fully formed in his throat.She was terrified.

She managed to strip to her small clothes, and without hesitation tore them off as well, striding bare into the freezing water. He heard Robert gasp beside him, turning to see the man flush a ruddy shade, eyes widening, lips curling back to reveal a predatory grin.

Jaime followed his gaze back to the naked giantess. She was submerged to her knees, long legs splashing forward, moving deeper into the stream with steps that were sure despite the fast moving current. The bulky muscles of her thighs knotted from the effort of holding her steady. Sighing with relief she relaxed her shoulders, as if a heavy weight were suddenly lifted, her hands falling to her sides, fingertips gliding over the surface of the water. The fading light filtered through the treetops, shadows from the leaves casting patterns on her skin. Jaime squinted, in the low light she seemed to be shrouded in fog, mist rising off her body where cold water met skin, swirling between her legs as she stepped, winding through her fingertips. 

She shifted to face them, and his eyes were drawn to the damp patch of pale hair, the warm freckles sprinkled across the cream of her stomach, dots running together on her chest where the sun had touched. With a surprising fondness, he thought ofher riding quietly beside him, head tilted back in pleasure, laces of her tunic loosened to let the warmth reach her skin. 

She moaned, closing her eyes as the frigid water lapped higher, the sound making his insides clench and a heavy, pulling sensation settle in his gut.His eyes moved of their own accord, sliding up her body to her small, firm breasts. Not womanly in their size, but more round and full than he had expected when hidden under armor, the peaks dark pink. 

Thoughts flooded him unbidden…his tongue laid flat against rosy skin, that same moan from a mouth now pressed against his ear, painfully strong legs tightening around him. 

With effort he pulled his gaze away from the woman, turning to find Robert with an enraptured look on his face.His expression was one of raw want, of pure need. The King not attempting to conceal his lust, the fullness of his arousal evident for the entire party to see. Jaime’s own, unexpected desire washed away instantly at the sight of the other man, replaced by fear and embarrassment for the maid.She was walking a dangerous path tempting the King, albeit unknowingly. The brute lacked restraint in all things, he would take what he wanted, consequences be damned.And right now he wanted her. 

“Your Grace.” Jaime spoke quietly, hesitantly, trying not to stir the man to anger or rashness. “Perhaps we should leave, allow my Lady somemodesty during her bath?” He held his breath, hoping that the King would pretend to feel a bit of kindness toward the wench, that there might be the pretense of decency left in him. Robert turned to him with a shrewd look, narrowing his eyes as his smile curled tighter. 

“_Your _Lady, is it good-brother? We shall see about that.” 

It would be tonight, Jaime was almost positive. He had been watching Robert all day, saw the way he sidled up to Brienne and walked his horse beside her, trying desperately to make conversation with the big woman. It would have been funny, if he were not so sure of the King’s deplorable intentions. Robert puffing out his chest and pulling his sword, handing it to her as if she were some damsel who would swoon at the sight of it. Brienne taking it in her calloused hands, flipping it over repeatedly to study the blade, before brandishing it one handed, feeling the weight, the balance. She bore his sword better than he did, at least better than he had in many moons, and the King sat transfixed as she swung it back and forth in front of her, lips pursed in concentration. She handed it back with a tight smile, and some softly spoken words of admiration, before pulling her own blade and handing it to the King. Jaime did laugh at that, unable to control his mirth at Robert’s shocked face as she compared their swords. 

Gods the woman was dense. If it were any other maid, Jaime would be certain she was trying to seduce the King. Brienne had pulled off her cloak to reveal a sweat soaked tunic, stuck to the muscles of her arms and shoulders, short blonde hairs curling at the nape of her freckled neck. She kept shifting and groaning in her saddle as the day went on, standing up in the stirrups to stretch her enormous legs, showing the hardened outline of muscles in her thighs and calves pushing at the fabric of her breeches. She was completely unaware of her effect on the King, the way he stared intently at her every movement. Jaime could almost hear his thoughts, picturing those thick legs wrapped around something other than a horse, following the trail of pale, damp skin to her collar as he remembered what the rest of it looked like. 

Why did he care if the rotten bastard took her purity? What was Brienne of Tarth to him anyway? Jaime’s mind was suddenly filled with images of Cersei, lying bruised and defiled, as this massive man rutted into her, his stink and sweat covering her, his seed spilling sticky between her legs. The face of his sister shifted into that of Brienne, her usual proud stubbornness replaced by shame and despair, silently weeping, blood coating her thighs and smeared across the bedroll. He had not been able to save Cersei, had not been there when his father had sacrificed her body to Robert in exchange for a pittance of power, a seat at the small council. This time he could do something, this woman he could save. 

They stopped for the day, set up camp, and gathered around the central fire to eat. Singing and laughter filled the night air, Lady Tarth took a seat on a log close to the fire, her squire sitting at her feet.As the evening wore on the boy started to nod off, his brown curls swaying back and forth, until she grabbed his head to keep him from falling forward and pulled it against her knee. Gently she combed her fingers through his hair, Jaime noting for the first time how delicate her hands were for someone so large. She smiled down at the young man, the tenderness on her face so rare. He looked across the fire and caught Robert openly staring at her, want evident in the darkening of his eyes, how he shifted in his seat, her presence making him squirm with anticipation and need. 

Brienne roused the boy, they stood together, and she placed a steadying arm around his shoulders leading him back to their tent. Jaime saw Robert motion to one of his men who leaned close as the King whispered in his ear and gestured toward his sworn sword, shock followed by amusement showing in the soldier’s face before he turned and quietly followed Brienne into the night. 

_Seven bloody hells_. 

Jaime sprang to his feet and rushed off after Brienne, unsure exactly what he was going to do or say when he reached her. He pushed past the soldier trailing her and roughly grabbed her arm, spinning her to face him, her grip on the boy faltering as he sagged against her shoulder. On instinct she reached for her sword, it was half unsheathed by the time she registered who was gripping her, turning a brilliant shade of pink as she met Jaime’s gaze with confusion. She gently shook Pod, his drooping eyelids popped open, and she guided him toward the tent opening. “Go on inside Podrick, I’ll be just a minute.”

“How can I help you, Ser Jaime?” The flush was receding, her demeanor returning to the stoic one she used in his presence. She waited, the furrow forming between her brows again. 

_The Stranger can take him to the bowels of the seven hells..._

Leaning toward the tent flap, Jaime bellowed to the boy inside, “Bring your Lady’s belongings to my tent, she will be staying with me from now on.” He used his most commanding tone, the Lion of Lannister personified, enough arrogance in the statement to make his father proud. 

He tightened the hand still wrapped around her arm, and with a yank started pulling her away from her tent in the general direction of his own. “You’re coming with me,” his mind was racing, trying to come up with the right words to explain his actions. He had to hurry, any minute Robert would round the corner and then they both would be fucked—she quite literally. 

They were running out of time. He managed to tug her three or four steps before she stopped him, digging her heels into the ground with enough force to wrench his arm from its socket. Jaime laughed at himself, his stupidity at trying to manhandle the beast, and swung around to meet her bewildered stare. Brienne’s mouth fell open, eyes narrowed, apparently unable to process the words he had just spoken. “I most certainly will not be joining you in your tent tonight or any other night. Why would you assume that—”

He cut her off, leaning in so close that he could feel the steam from her breath, smell the ale she drank with dinner. She drew back as if stung by his presence, pulling hard at her arm, causing his fingers to dig in and bruise. 

With his other hand he grabbed a fistful of hair, pulling her so close that his lips brushed against her cheek. “Stubborn wench, do not be an idiot. Come with me, I’m trying to help you…let me help you…please.” He could hear the pleading in his voice, tried to stop it from rising unbidden to the surface. All the guilt and shame from years in the Kingsguard, watching the monsters he served do unspeakable things, _allowing_ them to do those things without reproach, made his voice quiver with remorse.

The woman went still in his grasp, they stood there a moment, each judging the other’s intentions, before he slowly released her. “Please, Lady Brienne, please trust me.You need to come with me _now_.” His eyes searched hers, still wary, of course she would be. 

_Why should she trust him anyway? _

Her voice was cold, distant, as she spoke. “Just what, _exactly_, are you protecting me from Kingslayer?” The word cut him, spoken with such disdain, when usually there was kindness. Arms crossed over her chest, a wall separating them.

“The King. He wants to lay with you-u…as a man wants a woman.” She huffed and rolled her eyes, opening her mouth to protest, his retort stopping her, urged with desperation. “I know this sounds absurd, but I have seen the way he watches you, stares at you. He saw you at the stream…” Her eyes went wide at this revelation, big blue orbs filled with shock and embarrassment. 

“I saw how he looked at you then, how his eyes traveled your body and filled with lust. How his need for you was evident in…other places as well.” She looked down, once again furiously red, biting her lip until little flecks of blood rose under her teeth. Jaime knew this was hard for her to hear, her inexperience glaring.

Finally Brienne looked up, tears gathered in her lashes threatening to fall, voice shaking with a mixture of anger and pain, “There have been many jokes made at my expense, did you take me for a fool as well as a brute?” The sadness bleeding out of her expression, leaving cold fury. “Do you think I do not know how I look? I am ugly! Mannish and rough, no smooth surfaces, no pleasing lines. Nothing about me calls to a man, I do not make anyone’s blood boil. Even if I paraded naked through the camp, it would never occur to any of the men here that I was a woman, much less one they wanted to bed.” She was raging at him now, leaning forward until the spit from her words landed on his forehead. 

The lion in him roared his reply, frustration and fear forming a combustive mixture that made his words crackle and his teeth snap, “The King has most certainly noticed that you are a woman. He practically licked his fat lips at the sight of your blonde bush swishing through the water, his cock swelling as he longed to bite your small, pink tipped tits.” 

Brienne tried to back away, but he would not let her, crowding into her space as quickly as she retreated. “He will find you and fuck you, hold you down while you scream and scratch, swelling with the challenge of it. He will take pleasure in breaking you, leave you torn and used, and never look back.” She was shaking now, his coarse words cutting through her defenses, a look of dread clouding her features.

“You said there was more to me than what I have become. When you look at me I think there is a shred of the man I used to be, the one I wanted to be, that still exists. Some small chunk of decency that all my misdeeds have not erased.” He was staring at her, neither one blinking, softness settling around his eyes as he begged for her trust. “Let me prove you right, let me do just this one good deed. Please… Come with me.” 

Jaime saw her start to nod, to agree to his half-cocked plan to hold her away in his tent, even though he could tell from her face that she still did not completely believe his claims. Just then Robert rounded the corner, four guards in tow, moving with steady purpose toward Brienne’s tent. 

His time was up.

They would drag her away, he had to act now.

Gently he brushed the hair back from her forehead with his thumb and she flinched, the soft touch making her uneasy. A knowing, regretful look settled on his face. This was not how it should be. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, before taking a deep breath, and kissing her. 

Jaime remembered kissing Cersei for the first time, how strange and confused he had felt at the touch of lips, but that miserable kiss had been perfection in comparison to this one. He slanted his firm lips into hers and she pressed back hard in retaliation. No soft shift of skin or giving of flesh, no parting of mouths or slipping of tongues. Breathing through his nose, he gritted his teeth while moving his face back and forth against hers, all the while looking into her wide, shocked eyes. 

By this time Robert had noticed them, his low laughter rumbling in the quiet. “Well, Lannister, I see you’ve removed your cloak for the evening.Felt like going for a slight climb, eh?” The King stood back with a smirk, watching him awkwardly release Brienne, as Jaime braced himself for the strike that he was sure would come. 

Instead she simply looked at him, a sad expression of longing crossing her face before she smoothed it into blank indifference. He grabbed her hand, staring intently into her eyes while praying to all seven gods, that she would follow his lead. 

“Come, wench!” He tugged at her arm, moving quickly he dragged her past the King and his men, all the while hearing their whistles and jeers. 

“Who do you think has the bigger cock?” 

“Do you suppose she’ll take his flower?” 

One bawdy comment after another trailed after them. He saw the tears filling her eyes, slipping down her cheeks. Still she stumbled behind him, never letting go of his hand, breaking into a sob once they finally reached the shelter of his tent. 

“I should probably mark you.” He had been up fretting about it all night, how he would convince Robert and the rest of the party that he had dragged her into his tent and ravaged her. He would have asked her to scream and moan, maybe thrash about a bit, but decided she was so inexperienced as to do a poor job acting and give the whole sham away.Either that or she would punch him for suggesting such a thing, and he quite liked his teeth.

“Mark me?” Her voice had a high pitched squeak to it that he found rather charming, having never heard it before, and her eyebrows furrowed together so tightly they formed a thin yellow line.

They were sitting side by side on his cot, both putting off emerging to face the snickers and lewd stares of the rest of the party. Robert was uncontrollable and unpredictable, and Jaime was terrified of how he would react. If the King would respect the claim over Brienne that Jaime had put forth in rather dramatic fashion, or if he would see her as dishonored and therefore easy prey, now that he would no longer be the one stealing her maidenhead. 

Either way, he thought it best if the story was at least convincing. The big woman already blushed furiously, a rising tide of blood red starting at her collar and ending at her hairline appeared at the slightest impropriety. He was sure that any commentsregarding what they had done alone in his tent wouldturn her a ludicrous color. One good bruise on the neck would complete the look, letting everyone know that the Kingslayer had used her properly.Now he just had to persuade her to play along. 

“I’m going to bruise your neck.” He spoke calmly, like he would to a skittish horse, afraid that at any moment she would buck and gallop from the tent. “That way Robert will be more convinced that we…that is…that I actually.” His voice broke and he stumbled over the words, sounding like an unpracticed boy, not a man who had been fucking the Queen right under the nose of her husband for years. Bloody hell, the woman terrified him. 

“Ser Jaime,” she was shaking her head back and forth furiously, the blush he had counted on rising quickly up her neck as she spoke. “Do you really think this necessary? I know you are convinced, but the thought that the King finds me attractive, that he wants to…to _be _with me as a…as a man wants a woman. It’s absurd.” She was looking down at her hands, pulling and twisting at the fabric of her tunic nervously. 

Jaime stared at her, wondering how could she be so naive? Her face was not attractive, not even passably so, and she was huge, her wide shoulders barely narrowing at her middle before flowing into thick hips.He pictured her once again, striding into the cold stream, water gathering in front of her as she pushed through the current, sliding around and wetting her full, white thighs and firm backside. Long arms loose at her sides, fingers trailing the surface. 

The woman’s strength was seductive, made even more so by her total lack of guile. He was not mistaken, the King was aroused by her, with a ferocity that Jaime had not seen in him before. He was not overstating the danger she was in, if Robert decided to force his will there would be no way to stop him, given the order his guards would stand by and hold her down. 

His only hope of saving her was to convince Robert that he wanted her for his own, and pray to the _Seven_ that his years in the Kingsguard and whatever small loyalty the man still felt toward his sister’s cunt could sway him enough to respect his claim.

“Brienne, you have to trust me. _He wants you_. It is not a passing fancy, not some whim that he will get over. He is not a man accustomed to having his wishes denied, however despicable they may be. If this fails, he will take you, by force if necessary. He could kill us both if I defy him.” He had turned to face her, hoped the seriousness of his expression was enough to convince her of his words. She looked up to meet his eyes, and for the first time he saw terror in the deep blue depths. 

“What should I do?I don’t know.” She was starting to tremble now, panic taking over her movements. Jaime reached out with both hands, gripping her shoulders and turning her to face him. “Trust me, let me do this, just sit still…and don’t strike me.” He added the last to relieve some of the tension between them, not wanting to admit to himself that he was both terrified and excited by the idea that she could hurt him in a fit of passion. 

She nodded and closed her eyes. Placing his right hand on her jaw he tipped her head to the side, exposing her long, pale neck. Slowly, as to not scare her, he leaned in and placed his lips against her skin. It was soft, unexpectedly so, he could feel the firm muscles sliding beneath his mouth as she took ragged breaths, her chest rising and falling frantically. He breathed in the heavy warmth of her, her scent one of leather and fur, of soft soap mingled with burnt wood and the smell of grass. His mind drifted to Cersei, recalling the heavy perfume she wore, how he never knew the smell of her underneath. Brienne was laid bare in comparison, a raw fragrance, her alone filling his senses. Tentatively he opened his mouth, the tip of his tongue just brushing against her, unable to stop himself from tasting. She was salty, slightly bitter, he twined his fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck and leaned in closer, lips burrowing deeper into her skin, wanting more. 

He sucked at her skin, drawing it into his mouth, and he felt her tense.Their bodies still not touching, his lips and hands the only points of contact. He pulled harder, and pressed gently with his teeth, Brienne flinched at the pain but did not shy from the contact, if anything leaning in closer in an attempt to combat her own nerves. 

His control was slipping, the need to dominate her, to _claim_ her,overriding the sane parts of his brain. Jaime thought of her in the practice yard, sticky with sweat, both hands locked on her sword as she lunged at him, taut muscles stretching with the movement, a glint of amusement in those striking eyes. _That _woman, the glorious one who glowed in the sunlight and danced like the _Warrior_ himself, _she_ was letting him touch her like this, brand her as his for everyone to see. Twisting her hair he bit down on the delicate flesh with enough forceto cause her to flinch and jerk away, still he did not let go, dragging her closer. 

He should stop, he had done enough, her pale skin would be livid purple by afternoon. With effort he forced himself to untangle his fingers, release the bit of skin he had pinched between his teeth, pressing his lips softly one last time to the tender spot. 

_And then she sighed. _Not exactly a sigh, a soft, groaning gasp, her mouth so close to his ear he was sure that was the only reason he heard it. There was so much passion in that tiny sound, need and longing spilling out as her restraint faltered for an instant. He had spent his life listening to Cersei cry out as he slammed into her with his cock or lapped at her with his tongue. She moaned and howled, screaming her release to the universe. All her cries held nothing to the rapture contained in that small breathy noise. 

Passion flared in him, he growled against her throat, his left arm curling around her waist pulling her flush against him, the air forced from her chest with a grunt as their bodies slammed together. His mouth traced the length of her firm neck, sliding into the muscled grooves with lips and tongue, pressing his face into the soft spot behind her ear and inhaling deeply the earthy smell of her hair. He ran the tip of his nose down the ridge of her ear, rejoicing as she shivered in response, sucking the lobe between his lips, and tugging at it with his teeth. She whimpered, leaning into him, trembling. 

He pulled back to meet her eyes, the fire in them matched his own and made him ache, but there was also fear. _Gods what was he doing?_He set out to save the girl’s virtue, and here he was contemplating taking it himself, no more honorable than the King. 

With a sheepish smile he released her, his hand lingering on her waist as her breathing returned to normal, the fine shaking of her limbs subsided. “I believe you look thoroughly ruined, Lady Tarth.” His smile widened, trying to set her at ease. “No one will doubt that I have acted dishonorably, as expected.”

Her lips twisted up in a sad smile, she lifted one finger and tenderly brushed it across his bottom lip. “I’m sorry” she whispered. 

“For what?” His words a breath against her hand. 

“For one more notch carved out of your honor, one that you did not earn.” With that she stood and in silence donned her cloak, head high as she exited his tent. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pre-read by a few people (thanks for your input!) Beta'd (sort of) by Ro_Nordmann  
Sorry for the lateness of this update... we're deciding if the chapter would be split in two (8k words!?!?!)  
ilikeblue was also in the ComicCon starring at Gwen's greatness... so forgive her *wink* 
> 
> Leave her very nice comments, pls! Thanks for reading ;-)


	8. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What does it matter what they think? You are safe, your honor intact.” Slowly, Jaime reached out and took her hand, lacing his fingers through hers, the warmth from his touch spreading up her arm and causing her pulse to quicken. “Besides, they’re all just jealous of the fact that I get to fuck you senseless every night.” 
> 
> “Jaime!” 
> 
> She pulled her hand away, crouching to stand when he grabbed her arm, meeting her eyes with a look of yearning and slight apprehension. 
> 
> “Say it again…my name.” His voice breathy, pleading.
> 
> “Jaime”

“It really is impressive.” 

It had been two days since Jaime dragged Brienne into his tent, feigning an uncontrollable need to bed her.Apparently the ruse worked, as King Robert and the entire entourage were shockingly quick to believe that he could not live one more day without his cock buried between her extraordinary long legs. 

Their days were filled with sidelong glances, followed by poorly concealed chuckles and suggestive comments, whispered loud enough to carry through the ranks. Brienne’s face was in a constant blush, a fact he did not mind, finding pleasure in watching the wall of color spread from collarbone to cheeks, her eyes shining like sapphires in a sea of pink. In the end their suffering was not in vain, Robert called off his advances, at least for the time being.

Jaime squatted facing Brienne who was sitting on his cot, a sullen expression on her face. She snorted, and he smiled at the unladylike sound. He longed for moments when her guard was down, envying the relaxed way she behaved around her squire, Podrick. Gently he poked at the bruise on her neck, roughly the size of an apple, dark purple with red specks of blood just below the skin. 

“You must have the most tender neck in Westeros if all it takes is a little bite to do this.” His smile deepened, the corners of his mouth crooking up toward his eyes, brows raising in jest. 

“A little bite!” She shoved hard at his chest and he rolled onto his backside, the laugh now bubbling out of him. “You gnawed at my throat for an eternity! I wonder how it doesn’t look worse.” 

“Come now sweetling, did you not enjoy it just a little?” He stood up and leaned over her, batting his eyes in a falsely coy manner, bending down to nuzzle the hair behind her ear. For just a moment, he inhaled her scent. The memory of it made his insides boil. 

“Gods, you are insufferable.” Brushing him away she stood and turned, then plopped down onto her straw pallet. “You act as if this is the first time you’ve marred some poor maiden.” She was shuffling around, trying to slip into her bedroll without getting her socks wet on the moist dirt. 

“It is.” 

The words slip past his lips before he could stop them, small and wistful in the dark. “It’s not like I could… I mean I’ve never been with—” Brienne was staring at him, her look equal parts contempt and sorrow. He sighed, knowing that he should stop, not condemn himself even further, but wanting so badly to speak the truth to someone. 

“She was never mine to claim, not really.” 

He wanted to smile, to make a quip of it all, and remove the understanding and pity from her face. But he did not manage it. 

“So I guess you’re my first.” 

At this his lips did tilt up slightly, his eyes still haunted. He saw her swallow, the little furrow between her eyes appeared, the one he had come to associate with her contemplating something that bothered her deeply. The next instant she pushed it away, and went back to stirring in her covers as if nothing was amiss. “This is really quite ridiculous, I’d be fine in my own tent.” She was grumbling to herself as she settled in, pulling her fur cloak up tight.

“Humor me.” 

Brienne rolled her eyes and shifted her weight back and forth, trying to find a comfortable spot on the hard ground, finally stilling with her back to him, knees curled up toward her chest.Jaime lay on the cot facing her, watching her breathing slow, her shoulders relax. He did not comprehend what was happening to him, why he was so concerned about this ugly woman-child who had knocked him on his arse and taken over his men so thoroughly that he was sure they would turn to her for orders if pressed. 

Even now he wondered if she was safe, if he was too far away to act if someone came to snatch her in the dark. It was ridiculous the restlessness he felt when he thought of her in pain, when she was a warrior, used to being battered and sore. But not the anguish of shame and dishonor, she was not accustomed to that, not like him. He picked up his bedroll and placed it on the ground, lying down with his back to hers, he threw his covers over them both. 

“What are you doing?” The words mumbled, she had already drifted off. 

“Protecting you.” 

He could feel the heat radiating off her.Gods the woman was warm, almost too hot to the touch.Unconsciously, he wiggled toward her pressing their backs tighter.

“This does not feel like protecting.” 

“What does it feel like?” 

“Snuggling?” The word came out half question, half squeak. Jaime guffawed, laughter shaking him, making his body bounce against hers. She chuckled in response, a low almost mannish sound that rumbled through her. He closed his eyes listening, the sound both sensual and playful. He delighted in it. 

“First kiss, first…love bite,” his voice started to quiver, the glee creeping up on him again.“Perhaps we can add first snuggle to the list.” He reached behind him, running a hand down the length of her thigh.“Roll over here and I can show you…” She cut him off with an elbow to the ribs, his breath catching in a grunt. “Watch it, Lannister! Keep those hands to yourself, unless you want to lose one.” She was working hard to be stern, but he could hear the chuckle in her voice.

The night went quiet around them, he believed she had drifted back to sleep. “You are not at all what I expected.” She confessed into her covers, sounding frail and unsettled. 

“I asked you before if I met your expectations, and you told me you had none.Is the mighty Maid of Tarth admitting to a deceit?” They lie together in quiet, both trying to figure out exactly what they were dancing around, filled with questions they did not know how to ask. 

“Why are you being honorable? You were _not _supposed to be honorable.” The words tumbled out, “They call you awful things, despicable things.” She couldn’t seem to stop them.

“What do they call me, wench?” There was a bite in his tone now, he could bear the brunt of accusations and defamation by others, but not from her. 

“Kingslayer, oathbreaker, sister…lover.” She whispered the words, her voice timid, embarrassed to have said them aloud. 

“They do not lie.” He would not make excuses, there was no justification for his crimes, no explanation to make it right. He wondered how she could stand being so close to him.

“There is more to you than your name. Words are wind. Your actions speak otherwise.” It sounded like a prayer.He sighed, sinking back into her warmth, letting her assurance flow over him like a summer breeze. 

“If only, it were so simple. These words have marked me for years. That is all I am to the rest of them.”

For a moment neither spoke, the scurrying sounds of the camp carrying in the night air. 

“And why exactly are you here _Brienne of Tarth_…And don’t give me that inane explanation about wanting to reaffirm your island’s loyalty to the crown or such horse shit. Why are you _really _here?” Jaime waited, holding his breath, not knowing until that moment how badly he wanted to know the answer. 

“I have a mission, the _Warrior_ sent me here, to the king, _to you_. I was destined to save the Stark boy, and…” She stopped, suddenly unsure. He could feel her weighing her words, deciding how much she could tell him. Brienne exhaled, a long, slow breath, and when she spoke her voice was soft, the phrasing precise with the practiced formality that she retreated to when troubled. 

“There is something amiss in the capital, something…evil. I was charged to find it and deal with it.” There could be no misunderstanding the intention behind her chosen words. Brienne of Tarth had been sent to kill someone in King’s Landing. 

A hundred questions swirled in Jaime’s head. Who had sent her, and why a lone woman, powerful though she may be, to fight against an unknown foe? Was her father aware of what she was doing? Selwyn Tarth was, by all accounts, a very respectable family man. What would be important enough to justify risking his only daughter this way? What did she mean by _evil_? How was she to identify something that could not be seen? Her mission seemed foolhardy at best, suicidal at worst. 

Out of the maelstrom of his thoughts, one question rose forcefully to the surface, demanding an answer. “Do you know…Who are you going to_ deal _with Lady Brienne?” His voice clipped, apprehension tightening his throat. 

Their backs still touching, he felt a shiver pass through her. “No…I-I’m not sure.” 

“What if it’s _me_?” 

They stilled, as if time suspended for just a moment, before she replied, her voice faint and childlike, “Then the _Warrior _be damned.”

Brienne wandered out of camp without any real direction, wanting to get far enough away to no longer be _seen_, tired of the assessing glances and quiet conversations that she was not privy to. There was at least an hour of daylight left, and the air had started to cool, dampness settling on her skin and clothes. She found a clearing of soft grass, sitting she pulled off her boots and rolled up the legs of her breeches. Gods she missed Tarth, right now she would be knee deep in clear blue waves, watching the stars slowly appear in the darkening sky.

She had settled into a comfortable routine with Ser Jaime, riding beside him during the day, distancing herself from the royal family when possible, and in the evenings retiring early to his tent. Brienne did not mind his company, in fact, she rather enjoyed it. He talked incessantly, every passing thought seemed to end up on his lips, with a good portion of his energy spent trying to break down her shy reserve or provoke her annoyance.It was a personal victory when he angered her into cursing, every blush a reward. And he laughed often and loudly, usually at her, the sound pouring out of him, until he bounced in his saddle with mirth. Despite concentrating on keeping a straight face, she usually found the corners of her mouth turning up of their own volition. 

The knight was protecting her the only way he could, and she appreciated his concern, even if she did not truly grasp it. His kindness was the most unlikely thing she had encountered since traveling north, more surprising than the king’s unwanted attraction or the queen’s malice. Certainly he played the part everyone expected, the vain good-for-naught with swagger and charm to spare. More and more she was convinced it was all a show, a distraction to conceal pain and remorse, an overwhelming guilt that threatened to consume him, the need to pay penance for his multiple sins. 

The tales of the Kingslayer portrayed him as a raging, preening lion, all roar and bite, so unlike the weary beast that she saw…until that first morning in the tent. He had roared then, growling and biting at her flesh with a passion that surpassed her wildest imaginings, and to her horror she had responded in kind. Groaning and shaking under his touch, the lioness in her awakening, wanting him for her mate. She had been unprepared for the feelings his touch had awakened, the wants that sprang from depths of her being that lay unprobed for her entire existence. If he had decided to claim her she would not have stopped him, would have gladly allowed him free rein over her body, willing him to touch her in ways she had never considered with another man. His honor had prevailed, saving her virtue once again, this time from her own desires.

Brienne did not appreciate her feelings for Jaime Lannister. Why was she not repulsed by him, angered by his legacy of dishonor? In her heart, _she_ _knew _he would have killed the Stark boy to cover his heinous deeds, in so protecting his sister and their children. 

_How could she feel anything but disgust for such a man?_

Instead, her instinct was to shield him, comfort and soothe him, raise him up to be a better man. At the same time, his pull on her body was almost irresistible, an irrational need to draw close to him, share his breath and space. The glimmer of light in him called to her, it resonated with her own, making hers glow brighter in his presence. 

A clang tore her from her thoughts, someone was approaching through the woods, moving quickly, not attempting to conceal their footsteps. Quietly, she slid the dagger from her boot, hidden behind the trunk of a large tree. A form burst into the clearing, and she sprang, grabbing them around the neck from behind, positioning the point of the blade under their chin. 

“Seven fucking hells, wench!” 

Jaime bellowed, coming to a sudden halt in her arms, blood dripping down his neck, the sharp tip just breaking his skin. She released him, and he turned to her with fury blazing in his eyes, grabbing her by both shoulders. “What are you doing out here alone? Have you completely lost your senses? Do you want the king to find you and rut with you like a beast in the forest?” He was shaking her now, her head bouncing back and forth with the force of his movements.

Brienne shrugged out of his grip and flopped on the ground, knowing that she looked like a petulant child, but unable to control her frustration. “I couldn’t stand it one more minute. Have you seen the way they all look at me? Trying to figure out what could be so fascinating in my breeches as to tame the Kingslayer.” He chuckled and sat down beside her. “Perhaps they are all wondering how I’m able to walk after being crushed by your gigantic, muscled thighs.” She smacked him behind the head and scrunched her face in disgust. 

“Gods, Lannister, you’re not making it better.”

“What does it matter what they think? You are safe, your honor intact.” Slowly, Jaime reached out and took her hand, lacing his fingers through hers, the warmth from his touch spreading up her arm and causing her pulse to quicken. “Besides, they’re all just jealous of the fact that I get to fuck you senseless every night.” 

“Jaime!” 

She pulled her hand away, crouching to stand when he grabbed her arm, meeting her eyes with a look of yearning and slight apprehension. 

“Say it again…my name.” His voice breathy, pleading.

_“Jaime”_

Whispering the word, she sank to the ground, no longer able to meet his gaze.She fidgeted with the dagger she was still holding, before handing it to him.“Here, you should carry this.”

“Whatever for?” He asked, looking closely at the weapon. “I’m the best swordsman in Westeros. Why would I need your little knife?” She huffed at his boast, and he smirked, the mood between them shifting back to the friendly camaraderie that they shared during daylight hours, riding side by side. 

“It _is_ a lovely weapon, Lady Brienne.Wherever did you find it?” The blade had swirls of blue forged into the steel, and on the hilt was the eight pronged star, a sapphire set in the center of the mark. 

“It was made on Tarth, blessed by the Septon there. It carries the protection of my people. I want you to have it.” 

He started to protest, but she would not let him. “Ser Jaime, you have put yourself at great risk to keep me safe. It is the least I can do.Please…take the dagger. You may need it one day.” Reluctantly, he slid the weapon into his boot and stood, reaching out his hands and pulling her to her feet. 

“When I was little, my father told me to wave a sword around, to distract my enemy, then slip the dagger between their ribs while they aren’t looking.” She grinned, and he his smile widened as he shook his head. 

“That is some fucking childhood, Lady Brienne.” 

Her twin had been acting peculiar ever since they left Winterfell.He had not warmed her cot once, and when asked he passed it off as prudence, feeling sure they would be discovered by one of the many gawkers in the camp.He did not ride at her side, never leaving the close proximity of the king, even taking to accompanying him on treks away from the camp in the late afternoon. Cersei was unsure if Jaime was feeling especially protective of her lumbering husband, or if he was keeping a close watch on him for other reasons. 

Soon she started hearing whispers, how the big bitch had caught the eye of the King and the Kingslayer alike, how they vied for her attention and longed to fill the space between her massive legs. Only when Robert visited her tent one night were her suspicions confirmed. 

“Your sweet, pure as snow brother has taken a break from wearing the White, finally succumbing to his urges…not that I blame him. Any man with a working cock can resist only for so long.” He chuckled, pulling up his pants and smacking her on the bare arse, as he stood. “Unbelievably, the…now former… Maid of Tarth is the one who finally broke his resolve. Would you believe he is fucking her as we speak?” He shook his head, back to his wife as he bent fastening his boots, unaware of the vicious look settling over her features, a murderous intent in her cold, green eyes. “Can you imagine him plowing into that mountain of a woman, trying to hold _her _down, making _her_ beg for more? Likely as not she’s riding him, not that I expect he minds.” 

As soon as the king was gone, Cersei slithered through the camp to her brother’s tent. No sounds came from inside, making her initially dismiss Robert’s disgusting claims. Surely he was the one who wanted to bed the freak. _Let him have her._ A twisted smile pulling at her lips at the thought. She quietly opened the tent flap, peaking inside, intent on making sure her brother was alone. 

Her breath caught in her throat, hands gripping tightly in the fabric as she struggled to hold her tongue and stand still.Fighting the urge to scream and rush forward, all fists and nails and teeth, to rip and tear at the couple until nothing was left. They lay on the floor together, the ugly brute curled in a ball on her side, her brother’s body cupped around her, arm across her waist, face nuzzled in her hair. 

Lust she could tolerate. If all her brother needed was a warm place to stick his aching shaft, there would be no harm in his dalliances. This was something completely different.

Cersei watched as his fingers curled in the covers, even in sleep straining to pull her to him. There was a radiance about the beast. The queen had seen glances of it before, felt the burning energy flowing just beneath her skin when the creature was provoked, never fully appreciating the extent of it until now. 

Jaime glowed. 

Brienne’s light flowed into him, filling and renewing her twin until he reminded her of the boy from her childhood, the one who would crawl into her bed and give himself to her, warding off the gaping darkness within her.She had a sudden urge to run to the brute herself, to latch on and drain the light from her until she was empty, and Cesei filled to brim with the force of her otherworldliness. 

With sudden certainty Cersei knew that Jaime would choose this woman over her, the prize she could offer much more seductive than any whispered words and caresses in the dark. He would fight his own blood to protect her, try to stop Cersei and then…either way, she would lose him. 

Cersei vowed not to let that happen, she would fight to keep what was hers, her birthright, her lover, her other half. 

She would kill Brienne of Tarth. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I want to apologize for the lateness* T had sent me days ago the full chapter... Hope it pleases you all to have some more Brienne and Jaime, with a side of Cersei. Thanks for reading and leaving comments!
> 
> I also need to thank my fan fiction friends for putting up with my endless need for reassurance and feedback. Meriwyn, Jailynn, and Sari are all sick of reading this. Sameboots is just tired of me whining. Sorry ladies. Thank you Ro for making this prettier than it started.--T


	9. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a panic he realized she was about to fall from the horse, he sidled up as close as possible, then reached over and gently slid her into the saddle in front of him. She didn’t speak, didn’t make a sound, and for an instant he wondered if she was breathing. As she leaned back he felt the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the thrum of her heart, strong enough to carry into him, his skin vibrating in time with the pulses. She was safe, she was alive. Jaime grinned with joy at her presence next to him. Gods she stank, she smelled like an animal, and blood…her blood. Hair matted in dark red chunks, sticky with filth, clothes covered as well, the white material stained black. He was suddenly furious, gritting his teeth and vowing to find the bastards who had done this and kill them if the Lady had not robbed him of the pleasure. _I am the bastard_. The thought slammed into him, making him jerk with the realization. Brienne stirred briefly in his arms at the sudden motion. _Me and my sweet sister_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small warning for violence toward animals described in this chapter. Also see change in rating. More notes at end.

They were only a few days march from King’s Landing.Brienne was eager to get there, not that she expected to enjoy living in the city.By all accounts it was filled with the wretched dregs of society, the streets decorated with garbage and piss. She was ill suited to court life, had spent her entire life in avoidance of scrutiny, to now be forced to stand in the spotlight and perform.She would not curtsy for them, nor trot around in dresses like a gilded sow. The king had named her as his sworn sword, she would brazenly carry her weapon in plain sight, not caring if her face was brutish and her form unpleasing, promising herself they would not change her, no matter the repercussions. 

She _would_ be glad to have a bed and a fire, to get off the ground and out of Ser Jaime’s tent.The knight brought an unexpected pleasantness to an otherwise awful journey, although she could not relax in his presence.He jangled her nerves, made her self conscious and desperately aware of her overgrown body and how his nearness affected it.Her dreams were filled with eyes like wildfire and warm lips on skin, in the morning waking to find him huddled close, chest pressed against her back and limbs casually thrown over her sleeping form, the contact almost too much to bear. She needed to get away from him,gain some perspective with the distance, and figure out what role he played in the coming darkness. 

Unfortunately, the journey was taking at least three times as long as it should. For the last two weeks of their journey every little shit hole of a town they passed through had decided to put on a show for the King and his party.She had suffered through jugglers and acrobats, mummers plays and minstrels.The worst day by far spent at a shoddily put together tournament that found untrained farm boys struggling to compete with the king’s soldiers.Her embarrassment festered, brewing anger as the hours dragged on. She was about to storm off and hide for the rest of the day, when Ser Jaime agreed to spar with a particularly gangly lad of ten and six.After a few minutes of fighting the boy landed a glancing blow, knocking him on his arse.The knight skidded across the dirt to the cheers of the entire town.Only Brienne noticed how he placed his feet intentionally too close, how he leaned slightly away from the blow forcing him even more off balance, the shadow of a grin as he glanced her way before scowling in mock rage and slamming his palm against the ground. He met her smiling eyes and yelled up at her. “You think you can do better wench? The boy’s a natural!” The guffaws grew louder at that, the common folk crowded around cheering, a few slapping a proud looking older man on the back in congratulations.

As he slid close under their covers that evening she whispered. “You let that boy win.”He chuckled, warm breath catching in the wispy hair around her ears as she fought to calm her shivering. “What does he have to look forward to?” His voice full of quiet sadness. “He’ll waste his youth tending fields, a future focused on survival, likely as not die from famine or plague before he sees his twentieth name day.Let him have his story, the day he bested the Kingslayer in single combat.” No mocking clouded his words, only remorse for the things that he could not change, the impotence of his existence. 

She slid her arm from under the covers, covering the hand that rested across her hip. “You _are_ a good man Jaime Lannister.”The silence settled over them both, until he sighed. “If you say so Lady Brienne, if you say so…”

She had thought the tournament the low point of their travels, that nothing more base could be dredged up to insult her honor and dignity.That was before the bear baiters showed up, setting a makeshift pit in a town two days outside of the capital where they waited for the royal entourage to approach.Robert was thrilled, _of course he was_, the man lived for hunting, eager to see bigger prey up close—if you considered a half-blind, emaciated, scarred and battered bear as prey.The whole thing was reprehensible, the poor beast chained to a post, a raised, red strip of skin around its neck where the metal collar had worn away the fur. The right eye was milky, the product of an injury that left a jagged line of white flesh stretching from half chewed ear to maw. Brienne stood staring, fighting the urge to jump into the pit and put the creature out of its misery, her hand clenching the hilt of her sword with fury. 

As twilight approached people from surrounding towns arrived in anticipation of the spectacle, merchants set up stalls near the camp, whores wandered between the tents, working the soldiers who had started drinking earlier than usual.Torches were lit in the raised stands and in the pit itself, making sure that everyone had a good view of the violence to follow.Bets were made on which dog would cause the most damage, which one the bear might kill. By the time they released the three large hounds into the pit, teeth bared and slobbering, Brienne’s tolerance had reached its limit.She looked to Jaime sitting next to the King, eyes blurry with drink, neither of them would miss her. 

With some deliberation she headed to the tent assigned to her and Podrick this evening, making the excuse to herself that she needed a clean set of clothes stored in a saddlebag there. The thought that she did not want to spend the night so close to an obviously drunk Ser Jaime playing a larger role in the decision, a reason that she did not want to contemplate too closely, and she was still mulling it over, not paying attention as she approached their camp site. 

She noticed too late that something was amiss. Podrick was waiting for her, still as a statue outside the tent, a man hidden in shadows pressed to his back.Only then did she see the knife at his throat, a terrified look in his eyes and a quickly darkening red splotch on his cheek. “Run…m-my Lady, run…”He punched the boy hard in the flank, Podrick collapsing to his knees with a grunt as the man grabbed his hair and yanked, forcing him to look up at Brienne, the blade now pressing into his skin. The assailant was dirty, clothes and skin all blending together the color of marsh water,a mean expression on his face and a smile filled with blackened teeth.“I wouldn’t do that, not if you want the lad to keep his ‘ead.” 

Brienne raised her hands, approaching cautiously, eyes focused on the tip of the dagger at Podrick’s throat.“What do you want?” She addressed the man in a flat voice, trying desperately to control her rising panic.At a nod from Pod’s captor, three men rushed from the shadows at her back, grabbing her by the neck and waist, knocking her behind the knees so that she crumpled to the ground on all four. A foot stomped on her lower back, she fell flat on her stomach with a groan, then they were all three on her, kicking at her ribs and head as she desperately tried to shield her face with her arms.A hand reached around to her mouth and nose, pressing tight with a rag coated in filth and a strange medicinal scent.She struggled to breathe, trying to scream as the cloth sunk further into her open mouth and her eyes watered and blurred.The last thing she saw was the hilt of the man’s dagger slamming into the space behind Podrick’s ear, big brown eyes rolling back in his head as he went limp.

Jaime hunched over the basin of cold water, washing furiously, casting furtive looks at the entrance to the tent he and Brienne shared. A red, raw path stretching from neck to groin, still he scrubbed frantically, desperate to remove the smell of his sister from his body. 

Seven hells what was he thinking? 

_Not much._

That would be the answer if pressed, his cock deciding for him, rational thought abandoned at the touch of Cersei’s mouth and hands.It was not his fault, not completely.He was exceedingly tipsy, Robert pushing ale after ale into his hands as he suffered through the bear fighting obscenity.He lost track of Brienne halfway through, had intended to leave and find her, but the King seemed determined to keep him at his side for the duration. 

When he was finally able to slip away, Cersei was waiting for him in the darkened path between tents.Without a word she slid her delicate arms around his neck and pulled him to her, green eyes so like his glinting feral in the moonlight. Her mouth was hungry, supple lips grinding against his, opening in invitation. He moaned against her, it had been so long, weeks without her touch. 

It was as if the gods had conspired against him, all that time away from his twin spent waking up molded to Brienne, his shirt wet with sweat and sticking to his skin as he pressed against her back, arm curled around her thick waist.His hand would work its way under her night shirt, spread flush against the soft heat of her stomach and hold her close, as her firm arse nuzzled into his groin.The first blissful minutes of wakefulness every morning spent with his face pressed to her sticky neck, drowning in the scent of her before quickly rolling away.He hoped that she would not wake to the prodding of his full arousal against her thigh, not feel the way his breath came slow and heavy in the stolen moments of awareness as he leaned into her. 

The days of pent up need tore through his reserve, made him frantic and reckless.Biting at Cersei’s lips, his tongue thrust hard against hers, swallowing her muted cries.She was fumbling at the strings of his breeches as he palmed her breasts through the thick fabric of her dress. He tore his mouth away, licking a trail from the silky furrow under her jaw to the base of her neck, before nipping at the tender skin there.Hissing she shoved him away, and his thoughts slipped back to the wench, how she had gasped and leaned into him, relishing the pull of his teeth. 

He gathered his sister’s skirts and slid his hands beneath her small clothes, settling in the moisture pooled between her thighs, as she gripped his shoulders and arched her back, shuddering and rocking against his fingers. With a grin he shoved her down, and she gave a sharp laugh, the cutting noise spurring on his roughness. Running her tongue along the ridge of her teeth she narrowed her eyes, daring him with a look to fuck her where she lay, the boldness of her actions making him ache. 

Shoving his breeches down just far enough to free his straining cock he fell on her, hooking his arms under her knees and spreading her wide as he entered her in one fierce stroke. He took her frantically, a torrent of pounding blows as he cupped a hand over her mouth to muffle her screams of pleasure.It was over too fast, he buried his face in her golden hair, fanned out in the muddy grass, as he growled his release. 

As soon as her breathing slowed Cersei wiggled her way out from under him, stood and smoothed her skirts, and with an empty expression walked off into the darkness without speaking a word. Jaime was left panting on the ground, pants around his knees, an arm draped over his eyes and a thrumming pain just settling in his temples.Blue eyes, dark like stormy waters, haunted him._What would his lady knight think of him now? _

Jaime finished washing and lie down on his cot, trying desperately to slow his racing heart and make his breathing seem normal.Brienne should be here already, having left the king’s side long before him. He was gripped with a sudden panic, imagining her face as she watched him rut with his sister in the mud like the filthy beast he was, perhaps even now she was packing her things and headed back to Tarth, eager to wash her hands of the whole despicable lot of them. He held still for a few more minutes before his nerves overtook him, pulling on his boots and cloak he strode through the winding paths between tents to the one set aside for her and the boy. 

“Brienne, you in there?” He yelled from outside the flap, waiting a few seconds for a response before continuing. “Are you decent?Why aren’t you in my tent asleep already?It’s bloody cold on that floor without your enormous body to keep me warm.”He expected her to yell back, stick her head out and tell him exactly how much pain her massive form could inflict on his fragile old bones…but nothing.He tentatively stuck his head in, a slit of light cast from the opening revealed a form on the ground, very still, with a dark pool of liquid glinting under their head.He rushed in and knelt beside the figure. Podrick was bleeding profusely from a large scalp wound, a firm knot forming underneath.He shook the boy until he opened his eyes, they were unfocused. 

“Brienne? Where is Lady Brienne?” Jaime’s voice was rising, panic making him sound angry.Pod blinked a few times, confusion washing across his face, the memory of what he had seen eluding him for a few seconds before his eyes went wide.“They took her Ser Jaime! They had a knife to my throat and…” His voice broke, guilt and fear tearing at the words. “She…she refused to fight them, they beat her in the head and ribs and dragged her off.” 

Bile rose in his throat, he retched once before swallowing it down. Still kneeling by Pod, he started shaking, the movement gathering momentum, becoming increasingly violent as the gravity of the situation settled over him.No longer able to hold himself upright, he fell forward, his hands gripping the cold dirt._She was injured. She was taken. They would beat her and use her. She may die.It was his fault._

A thought tickled at the back of his consciousness, quietly demanding his attention.Robert foisting drinks on him, demanding his presence much longer than necessary. His sweet sister searching him out in the dark and seducing him, keeping him away from Brienne, providing the time for her to be taken.They had done this to him, _to her_, and he had allowed it, placing his lust before everything, not listening to his head, or his heart. He had rushed willingly back into Cersei’s embrace, eager for her to open her body to him, reducing him to the worst possible version of himself. He truly was a horrible man. 

Brienne woke in the dark, the odor of blood and shit so strong that she could taste it coating her throat and nose, making her gag.It smelled like a kennel, she felt around on the hard metal floor, her fingers carefully mapping the sticky surface before reaching the edge of the small space.Bars.She was surrounded by bars, enclosed in a cage that was too cramped for her to stretch out without touching both sides. From the bouncing movement she could tell that she was in a wagon, she heard muffled sounds from the drivers in front. 

Gods her head was pounding, she could feel the dried blood stiffening her hair. Her lip was split, and her ribs ached, but her arms and legs moved, she flexed her fingers finding nothing broken badly enough as to be out of place.They had pulled off her boots, taking the weapon she had concealed there with them, along with her sword. She leaned her head back against the cage, drifting in and out of consciousness, she lost track of how long they travelled, but it did not seem long before they stopped. 

She could hear voices outside the wagon, closer now. 

“We’re to wait ‘ere for ‘er, she won’t be long.”

“Who is she anyway? What’s the big bitch done so’s she wants ‘er dead? ”

“ I don’t know who the fuck she is, the cloak covered ‘er face. She spoke fancy and ‘er ‘ands was soft. All I know is she 'ad a big bag of gold and promised more if we was to use the woman rough but not kill ‘er. Says she wants to do it ‘erself.” 

One of them whistled. “That’s a cold cunt.”They all chuckled at this, Brienne counting four voices in the night. 

“Well, guess we’d better get on with it, so’s we can be done by the time she’s ‘ere.Don’t want to be ‘anging around in the woods, waiting for the king to miss her and start lookin’.”

At this they threw back a flap covering the wagon and peered in, Brienne realized that she was in the cage used to house the bear, her captors part of the group who set up the pit.They undid the lock and two of them grabbed at her feet, she kicked and held to the bars, but the other two joined in, grabbing a leg.Eventually they wrestled her free, pulling her out of the wagon, her torso crashing to the ground before they pounced on her, each pinning down a limb. 

They had to abandon their weapons to hold her, _that was good_. They were instructed not to kill her, _even better_.She waited, biding her time, summoning the power of the _Warrior_, letting it flow into her.She felt her skin turn hot, muscles throbbing with the desire to clench and pull, hands balling into fists. Time crawled, the movements of her captors clumsy and sluggish, the air thick around her as her breathing and pulse slowed. It was rare that she let herself go, let the energy overpower and consume her, always frightened that she would lose hold and never return to the person she was before. Not this time. Today, she would give the _Warrior_ free reign. 

They were talking above her, she retreated into herself, moving aside to allow the _Warrior_ to occupy her completely, no longer hearing their words.Brienne focused on her body, feeling the power flow through her, waiting until the right moment, seeing the movements before they happened.One man started to pull down his breeches…_keep still_…he reached for hers…_don’t move_…he spread her legs and went down on his knees between them…_steady_.So fast that the motion blurred she yanked her legs free and wrapped them around his waist, at the same time pulling her arms loose and gripping his neck.She rolled, legs and arms turning in opposite directions, his neck making a satisfying crunch as it snapped with the force of her twisting. Still rolling she came to her feet in a crouch, the others just realizing what she had done.Grabbing one of their discarded swords from the ground she made quick work of the remaining three men.The fight was never fair, her reactions so fast, strikes so quick that the untrained assailants didn’t have a chance.Within minutes all four were dead at her feet. 

Pulling on her boots she retrieved her dagger, the mate to the one she gave Ser Jaime. Her sword was missing, probably sold already, so she kept the cheap one she had claimed. Freeing a horse from the wagon, with no saddle and no time to spare,she mounted it bare and headed in what she thought was the general direction of camp. 

She started to feel the familiar tiredness, the empty sensation that followed as the strength of the _Warrior_ flowed out of her, the more completely she succumbed to the power the greater she felt the loss, this time made worse by her injuries.Fear made her reckless, but now that it was gone she trembled, the muscles in her legs quivering fiercely, unable to squeeze the sides of her mount.She was starting to slouch over the horse’s neck, gripping frantically at the mane, vision darkening at the edges, head bobbing with each step. Her chest ached, forcing her to take gasping, shallow breaths, head bursting, throat too dry to swallow. 

The sound of hoofbeats approached quickly, from a distance she heard her name called, strong arms grabbing under her shoulders, dragging her off the horse. She felt her backside slide over firm thighs, her shoulders settle against a warm wall of flesh.So tired, she could not keep her head up, could not open her eyes. He cradled her against him, a breathy whisper, hot against the skin of her ear. “I’ve got you, wench.” 

Jaime saw the lone rider approaching, they were bouncing precariously, limply falling forward as their forehead touched against the animal with each stride.It looked too small to be Brienne, but then he caught the silver color of her hair glinting in the moonlight, the long legs hanging loosely below the belly of her mount. 

With a panic he realized she was about to fall from the horse, he sidled up as close as possible, then reached over and gently slid her into the saddle in front of him.She didn’t speak, didn’t make a sound, and for an instant he wondered if she was breathing.As she leaned back he felt the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the thrum of her heart, strong enough to carry into him, his skin vibrating in time with the pulses.She was safe, she was alive.Jaime grinned with joy at her presence next to him.Gods she stank, she smelled like an animal, and blood…her blood.Hair matted in dark red chunks, sticky with filth, clothes covered as well, the white material stained black. 

He was suddenly furious, gritting his teeth and vowing to find the bastards who had done this and kill them if the Lady had not robbed him of the pleasure._I am the bastard. _ The thought slammed into him, making him jerk with the realization. Brienne stirred briefly in his arms at the sudden motion. _ Me and my sweet sister._

They arrived at camp in the middle of the night, Jaime made to take Brienne straight to his tent when she opened her eyes and gripped his hands on the reins.She turned frantic eyes to him and tried to speak, her tongue stuck to her teeth with thirst, forcing the words through cracked lips.“Take me to the bear pit.”He frowned, thinking that she was ranting. “Brienne, you are safe now, I need to—”

“Take me to the fucking bear pit, NOW, or I will walk there myself.”He started to tell her to go ahead, knowing that her legs were too weak to carry her, but decided to humor her, hoping to put her mind at ease. They had barely stopped moving when she dismounted, climbed the steps to the platform overlooking the pit, knelt and slipped over the wall, landing without a sound. 

“Seven bloody hells!” Jaime jumped from his saddle and pursued her, looking down he saw her walking toward the bear still chained to a post in the center of the ring, fresh bloody gashes on his snout and neck, one paw lifted in pain. He hesitated barely a moment before following her down, walking behind her and calling her name.

“Brienne! Wench! Are you determined to get yourself killed before morning?”Lunging forward he grabbed her arm but she shook him off and continued toward the beast, arms outstretched.She was speaking softly, moving from the shadow of the walls she glowed in the fading torchlight, her words a prayer.

“Father, bless my actions, for I have brought justice to those who mistreated an honorable creature.Mother, bless my hand, for with it I will bring mercy and peace to this animal who is suffering.Maiden, give me an innocent heart, for this spirit is innocent and should be set free from the chains binding it.Stranger, bless my blade, let it strike swift and sure, ending the beast’s pain in one quick blow.”

She reached the beast, its forlorn eyes looking up into hers, not attempting to strike or bite.With one hand she reached out to rub the fur between its ears, the bear groaning low in its chest at the contact, as with the other she dragged the dagger across its throat, slitting it open in one swift motion. Neither made a sound, the animal crumpling to the ground in a spray of bright, red blood. Brienne went to her knees, her hand still touching its head gently. 

When Jaime reached her she was crying.Huge, gulping sobs that shook her whole body and sounded like a man surfacing one last time before drowning. It faded to a trickle of tears as she knelt still holding the dagger, the bright spurt of the animal’s blood tapering to a dark stream, liquid puddling under her knees, coating her arms to the elbow. He pulled her to her feet, somehow managing to hoist her high enough on his shoulders to grip the edge of the pit wall.Once up she automatically reached down to help him, her movements like sleepwalking.He had seen men in battle like this, fleeing into themselves when the horror became too much.Brienne’s eyes were unfocused, skin usually hot to the touch was cold and covered with sweat, she sank back down to the ground, unable to support herself on shaky legs. 

If she were a smaller woman Jaime would have given up and carried her back to his tent, long past worrying over propriety. He was strong enough to lift her, probably could carry her the entire distance if necessary,but he worried that the awkward length of her draped across his arms would unbalance him, making it almost impossible to navigate the narrow, furrowed paths of camp. Instead he settled on winding his arms under both of hers and half-lifting, half-dragging her, legs tumbling along beside him, her eyes narrow slits of midnight blue. Once inside Brienne collapsed immediately onto her bedroll, eyes rolling back in her head, breath shallow, shaking all over. 

He called out to a couple of boys loitering outside, offering them good coin if they would fetch a warm bath and a decent bar of soap.Returning to Brienne he coaxed her to sitting and then started to gently tug at the hem of her shirt.“What are you doing?” She roused enough to mumble, pulling the material back down. 

“You reek, and you’re covered in filth and blood, I can’t let you sleep like this.Besides, you will most likely take it out on me tomorrow when you realize you’ve ruined your bedding. Let me help you get a bath.”He hoped his joking would relax her enough to allow him to tend to her, but still she resisted, yanking at the hem and shaking her head.“I can’t let you…you’ll see me…” That blush, the one that so delighted him, appeared. Crawling up her neck it blossomed into fiery pink spots that covered her face.Jaime found himself warming in response, a strange, possessive affection settling over him, he longed to run his fingertips along her cheekbones, feel the heat of her skin against his, watch the color blanch under his touch as he smoothed the pain and worry from her eyes. 

The boys reappeared grinning, having secured the largest tub in camp along with some friends who were lugging pails of warm water.Out of the corner of his eye he saw Brienne staring longingly, leaning closer to the tub with every splash of water. 

When they left he turned back to her.“Come on wench, you’re miserable as is, why deny yourself this comfort?Besides, if you’re worried about me seeing your teats, it’s too late.” She made a soft gasping sound at this, and Jaime chuckled, enjoying the way her flush deepened as she covered her face. “And while they are pleasant to look at, I promise not to stare.” 

“Don’t mock me.” She mumbled into her hands, and Jaime had to lean in to understand her. “There’s nothing pleasant about my…_chest_.”The word filled with spite, a curse for all she saw lacking.“There’s nothing pleasant about _anything_ you might have seen in the woods that day.Please don’t lie to me.” 

Jaime took her hand in his as he pulled it away from her face, using his other to cup her jaw, thumb running across the curve of her chin.“Trust me when I tell you, having seen _everything_, there are ample parts that a man would enjoy.Do you believe me…or shall I elaborate?” She was staring at him, those astonishing blue eyes no longer dark, soft as sea water rolling over sand, shifting gold at their depths. 

“None of those parts, however, I am interested in gawking at tonight.Please Brienne…just let me take care of you.No questions, no second guessing my intentions, and no unnecessary modesty.” He was still holding her chin, eyes focused on hers.She gave a tiny nod, and reached down to help him undress her, keeping her back to him as she shed her clothes. 

He helped her stand on wobbling legs, and it was with sudden panic that he noticed the bruises forming on her inner thighs and ankles. Purple outlines in the shape of fingers. His gaze slid up the length of her, his stomach turning at the sight of red-blue rings littering her hips and ribs, evidence of a boot toe connecting repeatedly with sickening force. Gripping his forearm she stepped cautiously into the tub, and he saw more purple fingers wrapped around her wrist and upper arm.She settled into the water with a sigh, and it was all he could do to keep from screaming, frantic to know what they had done to her, whether or not they had touched her.

Taking the bar of soap he lathered his hands and started working them through her hair, gently rubbing the cuts in her scalp, cleaning them as best he could. She relaxed under his fingers, closing her eyes as he poured clean water over her head.He watched it stream over her shoulders in red ribbons.“Brienne did they…I can see the marks, I know that they tried…” His shaky voice died, unable to speak the words for fear of what the answer might be.

“No, I killed them before…” Her voice faded and he felt the breath he had been holding explode from his lips, the words tumbling out after. _“Gods Brienne, I am so sorry.I failed you.I should have been there to protect you.” _He threw his arms around her shoulders from behind, pressing his face into her hair as silent tears slipped down his cheeks, lost in her wet warmth.Gently she stroked his arm, comforting him. “It’s not your fault, you couldn’t have known.” 

“I should have.”He didn’t explain further, instead wetting a cloth and gently wiping the dirt off her face, dabbing at the cut at her temple, the blood around her lip. They sat in silence as he bathed her, washing the grime from her collarbone, under her arms.Moving lower to clean her chest and back.His eyes never left hers, his hands touching her with a reverence that spoke of his sorrow, asking her forgiveness with each soft movement. 

When he was done he helped her out of the tub and dressed her, settling her into her covers and lying down beside her. Brienne curled up like a child, he once again marveled at the way she balled her legs to her chest, in sleep taking up half her normal space.She looked so young.

“You know who did this?” Her quiet words caught him off guard, he thought her already asleep.

“Yes,” He was afraid of the word, afraid of her response.

“You know that she will try again? She will not stop until I am dead.”

His breath caught in his throat._Would she? _Was this more than a passing fury, the decision to rid herself of Brienne not just a jealous fit? He had always excused Cersei’s actions as those of an overly indulged child, too powerful by far, prone to raging tantrums.But this?He remembered cold green eyes like jagged glass, a broken reflection of his own, meeting his gaze as she straightened her dress.That was not a woman blinded with jealousy, her moves were calculated, manipulative, saturated with furious intent. 

“Yes, she will try again.”He knew it, deep in his bones, this was not the end.

“What will you do?” Her voice grew even smaller, a wisp of sound dissolving like smoke from acandle. 

“I do not know.” He tried to pull her tight to him, to reassure her with his actions where he could not with words.She scooted forward, cold seeping into the growing space between them, as gently she slid his hand from her hip. 

He was cold, the wet and muck of the Winterfell yard penetrating his exposed skin, he shivered as a breeze caught hold, raising gooseflesh.Astride him, the heavy bones of her knees gripped and dented the flesh of his hips.She was warm, so wonderfully warm, her bare body radiating heat in waves. The weight of her pressed hard against his stomach, her hands on his shoulders, bearing him down.He felt himself sinking into the softness of the saturated ground, brown water rushing into the spaces formed around his body, filling the gap behind his neck,the crevice of his ass, the bend of his knees. His hands were once again on her hips, but this time he did not raise to meet her mockingly.This time he squeezed the full, firm flesh of her, dragging his hands deliberately along her lower back, settling into the grooves between her ribs, fingers splayed, the muscles sliding and shifting under the skin with each deep breath she took. 

The feel of her was intoxicating, solid and real, enveloping him in a seductive mixture of softness and strength.Beneath her he was powerless, the thought more arousing than anything he could have imagined.He was painfully hard, his full cock pressing at her thigh, overwhelmed by the need to thrust into her, to fill her and lose himself in the heat and power at her core.Leaning into him forcefully, her breasts flattened against his chest, the dark pink edge of her nipples barely visible. His blood rushed at the sight, and he let out a soft moan of pleasure. 

Hesitantly he sought her face, expecting fury and disgust.Instead her mouth fell open with a look of wonder, little puffs of steam exiting with each hurried breath.Eyes like deep pools, dark at the center.She stared at him, and to his astonishment the corners of her mouth tilted up in a slight smile, her face shifting from confusion to understanding, then pity. 

“What do you want Kingslayer?” The name given without judgement, not unkind, merely stated as fact.

He stared into her open face, his words a confession. “I want you.”

She cocked her head sideways, eyes never leaving his, a mean little laugh suddenly breaking the silence.“Funny, all you have ever wanted before was to fuck your sister.” 

He tried to look away then, her face shifting to anger, red flooding her chest and neck, rising to her cheeks.Reaching up she grabbed his chin, her fingers like a vice forcing him to hold her gaze. 

“You have squandered light that was not yours to waste.Fed it wantonly to the _Void_. Worshiped between the legs of a monster rather than the altar of the _Mother_ who formed you.” Her voice was low and terrifying, face inches from his, hot breath burning him.

“Her lover, her lackey boy, her protector. Willingly you have swallowed her darkness, drawing it into you in drowning gulps.And now you claim to want me?” Her eyes darkened with fury, boring in to him, waiting for an answer.

He stared at her face, even in anger the kindness was there, and with desperation that he did not understand, he shouted. “_YES_! Yes, I want you…please…please.” He was begging now, not to make love to her, but for something more, a redemption that only she could offer. 

The red faded from her cheeks, her eyes once again clear and shining,all expression erased as she gently pushed his head to the side.

Before he could register what was happening, muddy water flowed into his nose and mouth.Fear gripped him and he bucked against her, she pressed down unyielding, unrelenting. The smell of horse droppings and rotten straw filled his head, he choked and sputtered as the cold filth slid down his throat, cutting off his breath, filling his lungs.He was sinking deeper, she leaned forward forcing him under.

“Help me,” he gasped, opening his mouth and letting more of the rot in.He was almost completely submerged now, dirt clouding his vision. 

“I am not your savior, Jaime Lannister.” Her words close, still he could barely hear them over the ringing in his head, the burning in his chest overwhelming all of his other senses. “You drowned yourself in her mire, dirtied your soul beyond cleansing, and yet there is light in you. There is a battle coming, and you will need to choose a side.”Her voice was fading, the pounding of his heart frantic, as it threw itself against his ribs in desperation. 

“Find your own way out.” 

Jaime woke with a gasp. He had been screaming her name, his throat raw from the force of it.Brienne was leaning over him, shaking him, her blond hair shining in the darkness. “Jaime…Jaime, it is only a dream, you are safe.” 

“I am not safe, I do not deserve to be safe.Not with what I have done. What I am.”Still caught in the memory of his nightmare , he threatened to tremble apart in her grasp, stabbed with the horrible realization that he would never be enough for this woman, the deeds of his past inescapable, the ties to his sister binding. “I have always belonged to her, existed for her. I do not know how to live otherwise.”

“Do you _chose_ to live that way.Is it your desire to be hers forever?” Brienne was holding him steady, looking into his eyes with such tenderness, so much more than he deserved. 

“_NO_!” He shouted the word, the answer finally so clear, “No, I do not want to be that man anymore. Please, I do not know…” How did one change their whole being, rewrite their existence?

Brienne tilted forward, forehead touching his, a beautiful smile spreading across her face.Her look that of someone who found a lost treasure, the devout when whispered to by the gods. 

“Then I _claim_ you, Jaime Lannister.I claim you in the name of the _Warrior _whose blood flows in me, and the _Mother_ who created you.” 

The skin of her hands heated as she spoke, fingertips becoming little brands, burning into the skin in front of his ears. At times, he had thought her eyes glowed, but now he could see the golden flames, licking at a curtain of blue. Her words settled in his chest and there was a shift at his core, the tiny bits that made him whole realigning. 

“Your sister has no dominion over you, I release you from her darkness, your sins a debt you will pay in servitude. From this day forward, _you are mine_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Ro who didn’t laugh or scream too hard when I said “It’s not a road trip without a bear.” Thank you to Meriwyn, Jailynn, and Sari for putting up with me for another week and reading (over and over) these scenes. Your input is so valuable. 
> 
> I love comments!!! Good or bad, let me know. Also, sorry about the Cersei.—T


	10. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Events from the night before floated back like a dream. Brienne had claimed him. What exactly did that mean? He had wanted it desperately, felt as if he would die without it, the light buried inside him screaming with release as she held him close and made him hers. Where the ties to his sister were a lead chain around his neck, this bond was a caress.

* * *

Jaime woke slowly, sounds of the camp waking filtering through the warm haze he had been drifting in.He had grown so used to sleeping on the cold, hard ground that the softness enveloping him was seductive, kept pulling him under, urging him to shut his eyes tight to block out the gathering light. 

After several failed attempts at waking he dragged himself into awareness to find thick arms wrapped tightly around him, long fingers twisted in his clothes pulling him tight. A satisfied grin crept across his face, he was lying atop the wench, head nestled somewhere between crook of arm and bosom, one hand tangled in her hair, the other once again slinking under her tunic to stroke the soft skin of her stomach.His knee had slipped between her legs, and her long limbs were twined around his, pinning him to her.

Teasingly he had listed all the firsts Brienne had experienced with him, only now realizing she had granted him one as well.Never before had he awakened in the arms of a woman, his liaisons with Cersei frantic affairs with little physical contact outside the act of fucking. Touching for the simple pleasure of touching, without demand or expectation, was new to him. 

He thought of his sweet sister and could picture her beautiful body, feel her slick skin and the heat of her core as she moaned and dragged him in deeper.They were two halves of one soul, or so she had told him, so often and with such ferocity that he believed her, unable to remember a time when her touch and taste hadn’t lived in his dreams.His connection to her a tangible force driving him to do her will. 

Events from the night before floated back like a dream.Brienne had claimed him. _What exactly did that mean? _ He had wanted it desperately, felt as if he would die without it, the light buried inside him screaming with release as she held him close and made him hers.Where the ties to his sister were a lead chain around his neck, this bond was a caress.

He stared at her face with longing, she was still asleep, mouth gently open. Deep, quiet breaths slipping across his forehead, lifting his hair and making him shiver.Her bottom lip was split, a jagged line of flesh dividing the pink skin, bruised blood collecting beneath her jaw, the result of a glancing kick._Gods she looked young_. In slumber, with the weight of her burden lifted she looked so young and so, so soft. He pulled his hand from her hair, savoring the feel as fine strands slid through his fingers, and gently rubbed his thumb across her cheek. 

Her pale eyelashes fluttered, eyes sluggishly opening beneath lids still heavy with sleep, sparkling like sapphire half moons in the light of daybreak. Jaime’s breath stilled, his hand stopped moving and rested gently agains her chin. 

He wanted to capture this moment, to spend the rest of his mornings watching those beautiful eyes blink with lazy contentment, to drift awake in a blurred tangle of arms and legs, not knowing at first where he ended and she began. 

A wave of possessiveness tore through him, so much stronger than anything he had felt before. His craving for Cersei was an aching need, the space in his soul where his love for her lived a pit that could never be filled, open and sore. 

In Brienne’s arms he felt whole, complete in a way that he hadn’t realized he wanted until now.The need to touch her, taste her, _make her his_ flooded his mind.His movements became frantic as he slid his body the length of her and grasped her face with both hands. 

Her eyes widened, waking completely, she barely had time to whisper “Oh,” before his lips captured hers. Their eyes were open, inches apart, and for a moment he feared this kiss would be no better than their first, expecting her to shove him off and deny his touch. 

Holding his breath, his pulse thundered as he watched her eyes slowly darken and her pupils grow large, rejoicing as her lips went soft and hot under his. With a long, low groan she wrapped both arms around him, tangling strong fingers in his hair, crushing his lips against hers. 

He growled, tongue thrusting forward into her mouth, her lips parting hungrily, pulling him in, the need to consume him, to be consumed by him, raging with a ferocity that surprised them both.He was lost in her, sucking and biting at her lips, tasting blood, afraid he was causing her pain but unable to stop. 

_Gods she felt so good_, breath hot and frantic against him, her whimpers and moans making him wild.He should have known it would be this way, had realized all along that this was a lioness prowling amongst the sheep, and wolves, and stags. 

_His lioness._

Wrenching her mouth free Brienne gasped, gently placing her hands on his shoulders, forcing a small space between them.For a terrified instant Jaime felt the sting of rejection, but then she smiled, a full, joyful smile that showed her uneven teeth and made his heart ache with he beauty of it.Raising a hand to his face, she smoothed the lines at the corner of his eye, tracing the outline of his jaw and the fullness of his lower lip. 

Her fingers danced along his skin, making him shiver. 

“Jaime…I’m here…I’m safe. I will stay by your side, I won’t leave you.” 

A small, pained sob escaped his lips, head falling forward to rest against hers. 

“Brienne I need you. I was so afraid.” 

Tenderly he brushed kisses against each eyelid, as she sighed his name against his chest, gripping the front of his shirt and pulling him close. He trailed his mouth along her crooked nose to the corner of her lips, gently taking the torn part between his and tugging at it softly. Deep in her throat she made a purring sound, as he moved lower, licking at the sensitive skin beneath her jaw. 

“Fucking cunts!” 

The head of the hound poked through the tent flap,a wide grin on his face, enjoying the awkward silence as they froze, Brienne flushing red under his stare. 

“We’re out here, thumbs up our arses waiting for you to wake the fuck up, and you’re in here rutting like rabbits.For fuck’s sake Lannister, get up! There’s a bed and bath waiting for you in the capital, I’m sure your woman will appreciate both.” 

When he left Jaime rolled to his back, and they lie side by side in silence.The color still stained her cheeks and he could see the pulse pounding wildly beneath the thin skin of her neck. 

“Brienne…I’m sorry, I…” 

The words trailed off, he wasn’t sorry, not really.His only concern was whether she would regret what had happened between them, what could have happened.To his relief she started chuckling, a full, sensual sound that made his blood heat again hearing it. 

“It’s all right, I’m as much to blame as you, I didn’t exactly discourage your advances.” 

She was staring at the tent ceiling, he watched as the happiness faded from her face, her brows furrowing and a lost look settling in her eyes. 

“Brienne what is it?” 

“We can’t do this again._ I _can’t do this, not now, not until…” Tears gathered under her lashes, threatening to spill, her chin trembled. Reaching for her he took her hand, trying to comfort her with his touch, twining their fingers and stroking the back with his thumb. 

“It doesn’t matter what I want, my life is not my own, the choice taken the day the _Warrior_ claimed me.I belong to _Him,_ there isn’t enough left for you.” She stood quickly and dressed in silence.Jaime staring at her, unsure of what to say.

Grabbing her sword she stormed out of the tent.“I’m sorry Jaime.” Her words trailed afterwards. 

* * *

Podrick had been waiting, rushing in the minute Brienne left, quickly packing bedrolls and scooping dirty garments into saddle bags.If the lad questioned the fact that there was a bathtub of filthy, blood stained water pushed aside and left cold, he didn’t let on, keeping his head low, his movements determined and efficient.

Jaime wasn’t sure when he had acquired half of a squire. After the first awkward night with his lady knight he found the boy standing outside the tent, flushed and agitated, kicking at the ground and stirring up little swirls of dust with his boots. 

Brienne had exited shortly after and, with a glance at Pod’s distraught face, pulled him into her arms, resting his head against her stomach as she smoothed his curls and whispered in his ear.“…safe, did not touch me…don’t blame you, no fault…watched over me faithfully…friendship is important…need your guidance…help Ser Jaime as well…” 

He stood at a respectful distance, bits and fragments of the conversation drifted to him, the last making him stare, his wench asking for the boy’s allegiance to include him. 

Thereafter, he showed up each morning with fresh water and cloths for washing, carrying enough food for them both and packing up their things, his duties eventually extending to the care of his armor and tending his horse.Jaime had begrudgingly grown fond of the soft-spoken child, so unlike any of his precocious offspring, who preferred to keep his secrets hidden in those deep brown eyes. 

Of late he had taken to Jaime, meeting his gaze and smiling broadly, his open, easy face reminiscent of Brienne in its innocence.This morning Pod skirted around him, face downcast and brows furrowed, not looking up when the knight called out a greeting. 

Worry worked at Jaime until he grasped the boy’s arm, stilling his movements. “Podrick?” 

Head bowed he hesitated, drawing a settling breath before lifting his face to reveal an angry scowl, more fury than Jaime thought possible burning in his usually docile countenance. 

“I _heard _what the Hound was saying, what you were _doing_ to my Lady! She’s good and decent.You have no right!” He snarled with contempt, the hurt of betrayal shone in his eyes as a small hand slid to the sword he carried at his waist. 

Jaime’s eyes widened, _another warrior hiding amongst the sheep_, this boy would draw blood in defense of Brienne’s honor. Tentatively Jaime reached out, smoothing his hand over the one resting on the hilt, squeezing softly. 

“Listen child, I have not taken advantage of your Lady’s trusting nature.No matter what they_ say_ we have done, or what they _think _they saw, _trust me_, it is not true.” 

He was gripped with the recent memory of her softness beneath him, warm breath against his lips and the near overwhelming want he felt in her arms.The lingering sensations so pleasant and strong, it pained him to push them away. 

“She is as pure as she was upon first entering my tent, and I intend for her to remain untouched. Do you understand?” 

Their faces were close now, Jaime speaking in low, soothing tones.Pod nodded, the anger washing away leaving him quiet and embarrassed. 

Rumpling the boy’s hair he grinned. “Lady Brienne is lucky to have two brave men protecting her.She is quite a woman to engender such strong regard, would you not agree?”Podrick’s mouth turned up in a small smile,eyes going soft as he thought of his Lady._We are both rather smitten, _Jaime thought with a chuckle, this boy and I would die side by side protecting her. 

Podrick turned to leave and stopped suddenly, the dirty water basin falling to the ground with a clang and slosh, his arms going limp. 

“Seven hells boy watch what you’re doing!” Vacant eyes stared back, the boy was frozen in place, his face slowly twisting in terror at some horror only he could see.

“The emptiness is growing, spreading…it knows the Chosen one, can _taste_ her power, what she is, what she was sent to do.It is angry… _she is so angry_…eyes black like ink, mouth full of shadows, flowing into her other half, her mirror, turning green eyes dark as death.”Jaime shivered, the words cutting through him—_his _green eyes, _his _death. 

Tears were running down Pod’s face, released from unseeing eyes and dripping off his chin.Words rushed forward with building force, his mind frantic to shed their weight. 

“Children of the_ Mother,_ child of naught, bound by blood. No mother to protect them, the _Warrior_ will stand watch, alone she will fail. Death and rot and destruction follow.Cold that burns, fire that glows green.”

_Wildfire._

Jaime’s stomach dropped with the realization, and he grabbed Pod by the shoulders, shaking him gently. 

“Come out of it boy, what are you saying…something about green fire?” The child surfaced with a gasp, his eyes became focused, staring at Jaime with a bewildered look. 

“Ser I don’t know…I’m sorry I can’t remember, I never remember…” 

All the strength flowed out of his small body and he fell against Jaime, who lowered him gently to the ground and slid to sit on the floor beside him. 

Visions of Aerys assaulted him, the untethered look in his eye as he ordered the innocents burnt, the wet rasp of blood and air blowing out the hole he slit in his throat.It was still there, gallons and gallons of green death festering beneath the surface, waiting for someone equally mad,someone willing to step over the charred remains of a city and take the throne. 

_Cersei was that mad. _

There were powers at work in this tent, in the actions of Brienne and this boy, that he did not understand.He had never been a man of faith, belief in the _Seven_ a cloak that he donned for burials and feasts, but now Pod was speaking in riddles, telling secrets of a future that only he could see.Jaime felt the honesty of his words, knew that what he predicted would come to pass if events were left unaltered. 

Brienne’s burning touch lingered on his skin, his thoughts dominated by her glowing visage as an inhuman force flowed from her fingertips, leaving him torn apart and reassembled as something new in the blink of an eye.In the light of day it seemed a dream, if not for the realness of the change he felt in the marrow of his being. He looked down at Podrick sleeping soundly in his lap, his breathing soft and regular, a child once again in slumber.Jaime needed to find Brienne, he needed to know the truth. 

* * *

Cersei was waiting for him, arms crossed over her chest, radiant in the sunlight, eyes glinting like green daggers. As if seeing her for the first time he stopped and stared, _she was breathtaking_, his lover, his other half.Before everything there was Cersei—before the shallow breaths of his dying mother, or his father’s plunge into grief that felt like madness—before his brothers twisted body and pained wails—there was Cersei. Every pleasure and regret of his existence wrought by her fragile hands. 

She walked slowly toward him, a warm smile that showed her teeth and made her eyes shine even more brightly blooming across her face.Arms extended she approached, taking his hands in hers. 

“Sweet brother, I am glad to see you safe.I saw bruises on the brute’s face and worried. Did you quarrel, is something amiss?” She reached up with soft fingers, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead, then leaned forward to press parted lips against the line of his jaw, brushing the corner of his mouth as she pulled away. 

_He should feel something._

A strange hollow sensation settled in his bones. In a panic he grasped his chest, hand sliding from collarbone to groin, feeling for the cord that had been severed and aching with the loss. With a word from Brienne his desire for Cersei had been extinguished, the pull she exerted over his body gone.Her eyes narrowed, the smile melting from her face, she felt it too.

The force of her anger broke over him like an icy wave, catching his breath and making his insides cramp. Without warning she slapped him hard across the face, the crack of it blurring his vision, eyes watering at the pain. 

“Bastard! You weak fucking cunt! What has she done to you..what did you _let _her do?” She drew back to strike him again, and he caught her wrist, snarling and flailing she broke free of his grasp. “Perhaps I should have tried harder to seduce her, those thick fingers and fat lips could have kept me warm all these nights.The ugly bitch is easy to fuck, but difficult to kill.”

Jaime grabbed her shoulder, leaning close and whispering frantically in her ear. “Why Cersei…_Why_? I have loved you for so long. Worshiped you in every way possible.Given everything you asked…my loyalty, my life, my children…”He was shaking now, a fine tremor that passed through his hand into her, she trembled in time with him. “I could never be yours, not completely, not in the eyes of men or Gods.What we had, _what we did_, was wrong.Would you deny me this happiness, after everything?”

She threw him off, seething with rage. “Yes, You are mine! From birth until death you belong to me. We are one being in two bodies, _we share a soul_.” She leaned into him again, grasping both sides of his face with her hands, looking into his eyes with green reflections of his own. 

_This is all a farce_, a new voice whispered, one he knew to be true. 

He shook his head furiously, jostling free from her embrace. “No! _NO!_ You are empty, you have no soul, _I will not let you claim mine!_” Silence fell between them, the world slowed to a stop, Jaime’s face falling blank at the awful truth in his own words. 

Cersei looked at him with a calm that was terrifying, all pretense gone, the monster beneath staring him down. “Do you forget, _Kingslayer,_ that the only thing standing between you and a black cell is your golden cock? Robert will do as I say, the stupid brute always has, his kingdom for a taste of my cunt.”Jaime flinched at the crude words, and his twin leered, finding pleasure in his discomfort.“Do you think your children will weep for their poor uncle when his head appears on a spike?Perhaps Joffrey would enjoy chopping it off himself.” He felt the world around him shrinking, the edges turning black and closing in. 

Her face suddenly brightened, eyes going wide in mock delight. “Maybe you fucked another golden babe into my womb as we whored together in the muck.Who do you think it will favor, you or me?” She raised her eyebrows in question, and he felt dirty and broken thinking of what they had done. “It doesn’t matter, children always listen to their mother, they can be taught.”She smiled wickedly, victory gleaming in her cruel eyes. 

_When had his sister become so vicious_? 

The shining girl he loved was dead, replaced by this abomination wearing her skin.He swayed, knees finally buckling under the weight of his sadness. 

“Ser Jaime, you look unwell.” He hadn’t noticed Brienne approach, her muscled hands catching him under the shoulders, pulling him upright as she leaned her hip against his back to steady him. He saw their eyes meet, blue and green, his Lady and his twin, neither flinching. “You’re covered in sweat, you should lie down.”She was dragging him away, his vision darkening, unable to find his footing. 

Cersei laughed, a soft, mean chuckle that he remembered delighting in. “Feel better _sweet_ brother, let your pet care for you while she can.”Together they fell into his tent, Brienne’s strong arms holding him tight to her chest.

* * *

The rest of the day was thankfully, blessedly uneventful.Brienne was able to mount her horse without slipping off the other side from the pain of her bruised ribs. Wearing her golden cape with the black stag, she held her head high as they passed through the countryside leading to the city. 

The smallfolk were gathered near the roads now, watching for the king’s party, and she felt particularly conspicuous, her bruised and battered face sticking out above most of the other soldiers, white blond hair calling attention to the dark circles under her eyes and the paleness of her face. 

Jaime rode beside her, and she thought with fondness of how things had changed between them.In Winterfell she’d thought his presence a weight around her neck—her too loud, bitingly sarcastic burden to bear.But now she found him pulling up closer than was customary beside her, reaching across to surreptitiously brush a hand against the side of her thigh and glance at her with a comforting, questioning look. His expressive eyes unable to conceal the concern he felt. 

As night fell they arrived in King’s Landing, and she found herself adrift, with no place to go and, once the king was safely settled in his quarters. No responsibilities of her own. Up to this point she had little time to dwell on just how alone she and Pod were, their possessions limited to those they could carry, dependent on the king’s good grace for foot and shelter. 

Jaime had taken charge of her accommodations, quickly securing a room in the white sword tower, a few doors from his own. Robert had let loose a long, roaring laugh at the announcement. 

“Not over it yet eh good brother?” Then, looking at her with raised brows and a lascivious grin, “I suppose Lady Brienne is unique in more ways than the obvious…Keep it discreet.” With that he walked off, the queen fixing Jaime with a deadly stare before following silently after. 

That evening she found herself wandering, drawn toward the great hall and the sound of Jaime’s voice, her feet moving mindlessly in his direction. 

_When had she started wanting him near? _

His presence was a shelter in otherwise inhospitable terrain. She entered unnoticed as he sat on a bench near the fire, a towheaded boy younger than Pod on one knee, and a girl no more than ten and two leaning against his side. 

A half grown cat lazily circled his ankles as he ran his fingers through the boy’s hair.They were beautiful, soft skin and golden hair reflecting the light of the fire. 

_His babies_. 

The thought should disgust her, proof of the unnatural relationship he had with his sister sitting before her in the flesh. _But they were beautiful_, no hint of Cersei’s depravity in their sweet features, the same light hidden deep within Jaime radiated with abandon from his children. 

Looking up as she approached, his face froze, panic and guilt flitting across his features. _Jaime is afraid…sure that I will hate them for his indiscretions. _ The realization struck her like a blow, and she took two hurried steps before forcing her pace to slow, the need to comfort him moving beyond feeling, becoming a physical pain that twisted its way through her chest. 

She approached him like a skittish animal, sliding into the empty seat beside him, carefully placing her hand flush at the base of his spine as she sat. With a calming breath she smiled, putting all the faith she felt toward him into that one tiny expression. 

He frowned, so certain to see disappointment in her features that her acceptance took him by surprise, until the look on her face penetrated his fear, and he gave a whooshing exhale of relief. Gladness filled his features, with trembling fingers he cupped her jaw, stroking lightly and staring into her eyes with something close to adoration. 

“Who’s that?” 

The boy’s high, childish voice cut through the quiet, and Jaime dropped his hand, chuckling softly. 

“Tommen, where are your manners? She’s obviously a friend of Uncle Jaime.” The girl chided her brother, and Brienne felt a swell of longing for Galladon, wishing to hear his low, comforting voice, wondering what he would think of the company his little sister was keeping. 

“Tommen, Myrcella, this is Lady Brienne of Tarth.She travelled a long way to pledge her fealty to your father and, by extension, to you both.She is your sworn sword.” 

Tommen stared at the weapon at Brienne’s waist, timidly touching it with a small finger before running it along the flat of the blade.“You know how to fight?But you’re a girl…” 

“Tommen…manners!” Myrcella corrected him again, this time with more force. 

Brienne laughed low in her throat, they were so like her brother and she at that age.Both were grumbling among themselves, but each viciously protective of the other. 

“It’s all right, Myrcella.” Turning to Tommen she smiled, his facedowncast with embarrassment, she gently raised his chin. 

“Yes, I am a girl who also knows how to use a sword.My father taught me.” She held her broad, thick hands in front of the boy. 

“Can you see me doing needlework with these awkward things?” Clucking her tongue, “I was a lost cause.” She meant to make the boy smile, soothe his bruised ego and gain his trust. 

Instead his face turned serious, hesitantly meeting her gaze.“I think you have nice hands…long, strong fingers and wide nails.”He paused, smiling at her shyly. “And you have beautiful eyes, blue like the Sunset Sea when a storm is blowing in.”

“Oh,” Brienne sat back, caught off guard by the unexpected complement._He really did look like his father._

Jaime leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Tommen’s hair, whispering “Good man” in his ear before pulling the boy closer to his chest. 

They sat like together as the fire slowly died, the children asking questions about the North._What did Winterfell look like? Did he see any Wildlings there? Giants?_ _Did he go as far as the Wall?_ They were fascinated about direwolves, and asked if they could have one of their own. 

Jaime laughed at that, saying that he was certain their mother would not approve.Finally he stood and shooed them off to bed, following behind to make sure they were safe, and leaving Brienne alone with her worry.

_She felt too much._

It was terrifying. Jaime Lannister was the most frustrating person she had ever met.He was sarcastic and irresponsible, had spent the majority of his life thinking mostly with his cock and speaking with his sword hand, with three bastard children to show for it.One of whom would undeservingly inherit the Iron Throne, assuming a war did not break out first to challenge the claim. 

Yet from their first encounter she found herself unable to despise him, her sentiments shifting so gradually as to be unnoticeable, from merely tolerating his presence to craving his company. Now that she had seen the heart of the man, felt him battle against his baseness and cling to her in despair, she feared that there was nothing she would deny him. 

_I claim you._

The words rang clear in her head, a declaration made by a power much greater than her own. She had felt the sudden shift in him, hunger for the darkness he had feasted on for so many years vanishing, his soul made light. 

As his connection with his twin melted in her embrace, Brienne felt a tightening of the bond between them.Their fates entwining, her needs no longer solitary, unable to think of her own well being without considering his as well.He felt it too, she could tell in the small touches and soft gestures, the astonished way he stared at her. 

_She wanted him._

That realization shook her to the core.Her existence was grounded in the physical, a childhood spent training— sparring and riding horses, swimming and running—but never just touching. Jaime’s soft caresses as they pressed close in the dark had laid bare a softness kept buried, re-kindled desiresthought long dead after the _Warrior _claimed her, and the girl she had been ceased to exist. 

A passion, a feeling so unfamiliar, combined with the newly forged bond between them making a heady mix.She wanted to lose herself to him, own him completely and be claimed in return. Brienne found herself aching to open her body and welcome him into her depths, craving the moment when they would fit together and move as one, forgetting that they were two beings.The longing was driving her mad. 

As she walked alone to her quarters she vowed to avoid Jaime, as much as the thought pained her.She needed the space to think things through, to settle her raging wants before she made a mistake that would jeopardize her mission and draw the _Warrior_’s wrath.Allowing silent tears to fall, she felt her maiden’s dreams die anew, once again the small girl curled on the floor as flames and fear burned through her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! More to come in the next chapter...


	11. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne was fading, gradually losing the fight for dominance to the power flowing beneath her skin. The nagging fear, the unrelenting threat of another strike, set the blood of the Warrior roiling. Sweaty and frustrated, she stormed through most days grunting her responses and knocking the men she trained with to the ground with zeal that bordered on spitefulness. Jaime was the only safe port in a raging sea of heightened senses and frayed nerves. His voice like a sleeping tonic, his touch the calming lotion her father would rub on her wrists when she first was claimed.
> 
> _The gods truly had a strange sense of humor._
> 
> The man she had set out to despise, the one she had called Kingslayer and oathbreaker, had become so dear that she could not imagine an existence without him, as if it were always meant to be.

Brienne tried to avoid Jaime, she really did, but while her head had the best of intentions, the rest of her body did it is best not to comply. Every day without him was accompanied by a sensation like being underwater for too long, an awareness of something vital missing that hardened into discomfort.By suppertime she was suffocating, heart slamming and head swimming when she finally surfaced into his light.Some solace could be found in the fact that Jaime’s misery matched or surpassed her own, as it was compounded by the close proximity of his sister.Never escaping her expectation that he would scurry back to cower under her skirts and warm her loins. 

For the first week, Brienne managed to stay away altogether, making herself busy reviewing the defenses of the keep, becoming familiar with all the members of the Kingsguard, and attending training sessions. As in Winterfell, she was forced to prove herself to those unfamiliar with her battle prowess, cracking a few ribs and bloodying more than one nose along the way. 

The whispers continued behind her back, and she found to her embarrassment that instead of being referred to as the “Lord Commander’s Hand,” she was more often called “Kingslayer’s Whore.” The first couple of men who used the term found themselves staring up at the southern sun and spitting teeth, Brienne icing and bandaging her knuckles almost daily for the first week.After that she resigned herself to the title.She tired of beating her hands bloody on the thick heads of the king’s men. More painful still, she found herself unable in good conscience to deny the truth of it.

Brienne was still a maid, had only shared two kisses with the man and, in fairness, one of those really should not be called a kiss, more a surprised meeting of chins and teeth, flavored with an undercurrent of fear and desperation.Her dreams—they were another matter altogether.In slumber, the consummation of her relationship with Jaime became a nightly occurrence. The first few times waking in a panic, sure she had screamed his name as she came, her breathing frantic and the violent pounding of her heart shuddering through her, fingers trembling with each beat.Holding perfectly still, she fought to stop squirming against his sleeping form, squeezing her thighs tight to smother the throbbing heat between her legs. 

The distance she deliberately placed between them did nothing to quench her desire. Jaime still visited her nightly, covering her with kisses and thrusting through her maidenhead again and again. If they called her his whore it was not so far from the truth, her body belonged to him, even if he had yet to claim it. 

Slowly the gap between them began to close, the battle to keep their distance conceded easily as neither put their heart into the fight.Finding each other after dinner in the Great Hall, they would sit close in the sputtering light, happy to share one space, and make small talk about what they found funny, or frustrating during the day. 

Jaime started attending Podrick’s training sessions, commenting on his progress and occasionally stepping in to correct his movements or adjust the positioning of his sword.Soon, Tommen tagged along and they let them spar.The boy had his father’s instincts and they were close in skill even if Pod was more experienced.It became their routine, Jaime training with Brienne, as the lads faced off nearby. 

Sparring with Jaime was nearly as satisfying as fucking, or at least she thought it must be. The blood rushing in her head and the burning heaviness of her spent muscles left her lightheaded and sated.They kept a grueling pace for as long as their bodies allowed, only stopping when they were in danger of collapsing with fatigue. Sliding to the ground they leaned on each other, Jaime bent double with manic peals of laughter punctuated by gasping breaths.His joy was infectious, drunk on sunlight and freedom, the chains he had worn since childhood left in a tent somewhere along the Kingsroad.

As for his sweet sister, Cersei circled Brienne like a dog in a ring, curling her lip and rumbling low in her throat, looking for the chance to rip into any soft, exposed flesh.She shadowed her in the halls of the keep, leaned against darkened corners of the sept as Brienne knelt at the altar of the _Warrior_, always watching. Each time she met her vibrant green eyes they seemed darker, an inky blackness curling like smoke in their depths. She saw it in the eyes of Joffrey, and Robert. 

Once while training with a gold cloak the man waited until their fight was finished and she looked away before slamming the pommel of his sword between her ribs.Falling hard with the wind knocked out of her, she found herself looking into eyes like midnight, mindless with hatred. The Keep suddenly felt too small, she saw depravity and corruption everywhere, in the eyes of septons and servant girls, in the men who had begrudgingly accepted her as one of their own at Winterfell. 

Brienne was fading, gradually losing the fight for dominance to the power flowing beneath her skin. The nagging fear, the unrelenting threat of another strike, set the blood of the _Warrior _roiling.Sweaty and frustrated, she stormed through most days grunting her responses and knocking the men she trained with to the ground with zeal that bordered on spitefulness. Jaime was the only safe port in a raging sea of heightened senses and frayed nerves.His voice like a sleeping tonic, his touch the calming lotion her father would rub on her wrists when she first was claimed. 

_The gods truly had a strange sense of humor._

The man she had set out to despise, the one she had called Kingslayer and oathbreaker, had become so dear that she could not imagine an existence without him, as if it were always meant to be. 

The door to her quarters was ajar.Soundlessly, Brienne slid her hand to her sword and flattened against the wall beside the opening.Almost two moons had passed since her arrival in King’s Landing, and she was no closer to deciding a course of action.The evil she was sent to find most certainly revolved around the queen, but how far the rot had spread and exactly how to dissect it out eluded her. Steeling her nerves she spun into the room, ready to face her assailant head on. 

Jaime was lounging in a chair by an open window, a night breeze off the bay billowing the curtain, stockinged feet extended in front of him and ankles crossed.He grinned as she entered, playful eyes taking in the aggressive stance and drawn sword. 

“Here to pounce on your pet lion while he is curled in your chair Lady Tarth?”

Dropping her sword, the other hand flew to her hip and her brow furrowed in a scowl. 

“I should be the one asking why you are in my room alone at this hour Ser Jaime. It is most unconventional…What will they say of it?”

He stretched his arms above his head and stood in one fluid movement, padding to her silently, his long legs covering the distance in three quick steps.She held still, blinking, transfixed for just a moment by the inherent grace of him. 

_Leonine._

A tiny smile cracked the stern look on her face, an image of him lying at the foot of her bed settling in her thoughts. 

Moving close he wrapped both arms around her waist and tugged her gently toward him, her hips swaying forward but not meeting his. Jaime’s eyes were kind as they sought hers. 

“I really don’t give a damn what they say about me…it certainly cannot match that which has already been said.” Pausing, he took a deep breath, hesitation in his voice as he continued. “However, I overheard a new name for you…and what puzzles me most is the fact that you are so hesitant to correct their misconceptions.”

She huffed and pulled from his embrace, moving to sit in the chair he just vacated and remove her boots. 

“What if they call me your whore? Their perception of my virtue is of little value at this point.” 

“What if you want to marry? What would your intended say?” His voice so low, the soft wind blowing through the room almost carried it away. 

Stopping her motion she looked up, the insecurity on his face forcing her to be brave. 

“Do you think I want a different suitor?” 

Understanding passed between them, their bond held firm even if left unconsummated. 

Jaime grinned, all the tension washing out of his shoulders and face, and walked toward her bed. 

“I brought you a present.” 

He looked like a child, his excitement at seeing her reaction barely contained.

Moving toward him, Brienne started to protest. 

“Jaime it is not my nameday, you need not present me with a gift…Oh…” 

On the foot of her bed was the most beautiful sword she had ever seen, the kind fit for a king, a weapon of destiny. Guiltily she thought of the cost of such a thing, a man could live a lifetime off the gold he had spent, but it did not stop her from wanting it. With greedy fingers she lifted the blade, holding it reverently across her palms. The hilt was golden, a raised eight pronged star copied from the one on her dagger at the center of the cross guard, tiny crescent moons and stars pressed into the grip. The pommel was in the shape of a lion’s head, two small sapphires set as eyes. She could not suppress the heavy, satisfied feeling that settled in her stomach realizing that Jaime had given her a gift marked with his sigil, declaring loudly that she was a Lannister, that she was _his_. 

Running her fingertips over the delicate carving she glanced over her shoulder and grinned, “Lions do not have blue eyes.” Her touch lingering on the small stones. 

He had come to stand behind her, once again wrapping his arms around her waist, forehead resting against her hair, “Some lions do.”With that he reached around and nipped gently at the ridge of her ear, making her giggle and squirm. 

“Flip it over,” she did as he asked, and could not keep from grinning, spotting the tiny outline of a bear, almost hidden on the back of the grip, right where her hand would rub. In a low voice he started to sing, his mouth pressed against the back of her head.

_How sweet she was_  
_And pure and fair_  
_The maid with honey  
_ _Up in her hair_

Brienne laughed in earnest, shaking in his arms with the force of it. _The Bear and the Maiden Fair, _he had tortured her with the song, first humming it so low only she could hear as they approached the capital. Then taking to singing it loudly as a distraction when they sparred. 

“That is its name you know? I bought it, so I have the honor of naming it…_The Maiden Fair._”

Lifting the sword in one hand she made short chopping motions in the air, feeling the wonderful balance of the blade, the way it melded to her palm, the weight of it perfectly matching her strength. 

Grimacing she dropped the weapon to her side and stilled in his hold.He stopped singing, feeling the shift in her mood. 

“What if I kill your sister with this blade?”

Expecting to be released from his embrace, Jaime shocked her by tightening his grasp, pulling her flush against him. He gave one short, tortured sob, almost lost in the press of her hair, before whispering against her ear, his voice breaking on the words. 

“Then it will have been used as intended.” 

Brienne’s free hand slid back and forth along his arm, wishing to comfort him but unable to find the words. After several moments spent with his head pressed to hers, he finally released her and moved toward his boots by the door. 

“I should be going.” 

Resignation filled his voice and there was such sadness in his eyes, when only minutes before they had been filled with joy. 

“Stay with me.” Hearing the faint words leave her lips, Brienne cringed at the desperation in them.She missed him, the way their frames fit together, the comfortable heat trapped between his skin and hers as they pushed ever closer during slumber. Their bodies sure of the connection that existed between them, firm in the knowledge that they belonged together, left unsated when apart. 

Jaime smiled, a look of genuine relief on his face, and walked silently to the bed, sliding in beside her as if he had done it a thousand times. She curled on her side and he scooted close, soothed by the familiarity of his chest pressing against her back.Slipping an arm around her waist, his hand came to rest against her stomach, the tips of his fingers languidly drawing circles against her skin.She sighed with contentment, and he hummed against her shoulder as their breathing matched and slowed. 

Dipping into that grey space where her thoughts were quiet, she was about to slip under when the stillness was broken by a hand moving, sliding along her torso, tucking into the warm fold under her breast. Jaime growled with contentment in his sleep. Instantly, Brienne was awake and gasping, flesh firming with want, nipples hard at the nearness of his fingers as she struggled against the longing to lean into his palm. 

He must have noticed the subtle motion as she swayed away from his touch, the tightening of her shoulders against his cheek.As he woke his hand unconsciously rubbed along the crease of soft skin, making her moan through clenched teeth as she rolled away to break the contact. Awareness dawned in his sleepy face, and he turned to her with a sheepish expression. 

“Brienne…I-I didn’t mean to touch you like…I was asleep, I didn’t know.” 

She watched his eyes slip to her chest, unable to look away from the dark, pebbled skin poking through her sleep shirt. He licked his lips, a feral look in his green eyes as they met hers, “I should go.” His mouth was dry, his words graveled.

_She should let him leave. _

Setting her chin she nodded, intending to say nothing to stop him, but the despair on his face broke something deep inside her. 

_It was a lie._

She would let him walk away shamed, thinking that he was alone in his want, when her desire was a pain she was trying desperately to hide. 

Brienne moved to face him, meeting his beautiful eyes, passion turning them dark as the evergreens around Winterfell. Fear of her own body wore at her, she was tired of hiding from his lips and hands, of cowering in her own skin terrified of the need that filled her.Gently she pushed him down in the soft covers and rolled atop him, spreading her knees until their bodies joined, squeezing his hips. 

Jaime’s fear matched hers, and she could see it warring with passion in his eyes, mouth falling open and eyes widening in wonder as the softness between her thighs thrust against him, a low sigh escaping his lips. 

“Brienne,” he moaned her name as she kissed the skin between the laces of his shirt, touching each small space with the tip of her tongue, inhaling deeply the smell of him and smiling as coarse hairs ticked her thick lips. Trailing wet kisses up his chest she paused to lap at the dip above his collarbone before mouthing at his neck and jaw, drawing at the skin and making him tremble. Reaching his ear she took the lobe between her teeth and bit down hard, he cried out in pleasure and she released it, still sucking softly.

“Do you remember doing _this_ to me that first night?” 

She felt as if a stranger had settled beneath her skin, desire making her someone she no longer recognized.Terror of the unknown, of the fire burning low in her belly threatened to overwhelm her.Trembling she pressed her lips to his ear, once again taking the tender skin into her mouth and twisting gently before letting go and sliding her tongue into the warm opening, humming softly. 

“I do…I cannot…” the words stuck in her throat. Taking a breath she continued, her lust a sin she was determined to confess, “I can’t forget it, how your mouth tortured me…how badly I wanted you to kiss and lick other places…I dream about it.” 

Vaguely she noted how soft and breathy her own voice sounded, as her tongue continued its torture, slidingin and out of his ear seductively. Jaime groaned in pleasure, blood filling his cock she felt it rise and push against her hot center. Still he resisted, hands clawing the covers at his sides.

“Did you know then how far gone I was…what I would have allowed you to do?” 

Her words a desperate growl, as her body began to rub against his, matching the slow movements of her tongue. 

“How I would have parted my thighs and let you lick the wetness from me until I was raw and screaming your name?” 

His control crumbled, the air exploding from his lungs. 

“Fuck Brienne…_FUCK_!” 

Strong fingers gripped the back of her thighs, burrowing into the full flesh, dragging along muscles and palming her arse until she was molded to the hard length of him.She slid her mouth to his, lips open, their hot breath mingling as she gasped the words she needed him to hear. 

“You are not alone in your desire. _I want you_…_Gods, I ache with want for you!_Deep in my core…so empty…only you can fill…” 

At that her tongue thrust hard into his mouth, and he met it hungrily, teeth and lips pulling at her, taking her in as far as she could go, rubbing her cheeks and chin red with the force of his beard scraping against her. 

Brienne was grinding against him now, craving pressure at the throbbing juncture of her legs, unable to think beyond the next roll of his hips, the next wave of glorious sensation that flowed outward from her cunt, sending streaks of pleasure across her chest, curling in her neck and flowing down her limbs.Jaime was just as lost as she, bruising her skin as he pulled her down to meet him, thrusting against her softness, the material of her small clothes wet and his breeches straining to contain him. She felt him start to tremble beneath her, eyes flying open in panic as he yanked his lips from hers.

“Brienne I can’t…need to stop…gods Brienne you feel so good, I don’t want to…” 

Brienne had been around men her entire life, certainly not in this way, but she knew how their bodies worked, understood that he was on the verge of losing control.The thought of Jaime coming apart in her arms sent a wave of warmth to the pit of her stomach. This was what they were meant to be. 

_She was his, he was hers. _

There was no embarrassment, no shame, no manipulation. His needs were hers. She may not be able to give herself to him completely, but she could give him pleasure. They could share this act of loving. 

Eyes glowing with warmth she caressed his cheek, deliberately sliding the other hand between them, gripping his shaft between thumb and forefinger.Her movements felt clumsy, as with a shaking hand she stroked him, kneading the pulsing fullness, tracing the ridges of skin with her fingertips.His back arched, lifting her off the bed with the strength of his thrust. 

“What are you…fuck Brienne!” 

Grabbing her wrist he tried pull her hand away, but she held firm, smiling into his alarmed eyes. 

“Jaime…it’s all right…let me have this moment with you.” 

“Come for me,” whispering the words against his lips, she claimed them again, and she felt him surrender, moaning into her mouth as his cock pressed desperately into her palm. Her hand found its rhythm, moving in time with her hips, thighs squeezing him tight as her nipples pushed at the material of her shirt, scraping against it with each slide of their bodies. 

Brienne felt him quiver, muscles tensing and jerking beneath her, as he swelled and twitched in her hand. Jaime threw his head back and screamed, body stretched taut beneath her, fists balled in the fabric of her shirt as he shook apart in her arms.She leaned hard against her hand trapped between them, movements quickening as she slid back and forth, tugging at the sensitive skin there until she felt her core clench and shake. 

“Oh gods…Jaime!” 

Her back arched as pleasure spiraled out from her center, muscles deep inside grasping repeatedly at the emptiness, seeking a fullness that was missing. As their breathing slowed she felt the warmth of his spend seeping through the fabric beneath her fingers. 

Brienne watched his face in the soft light, eyes closed, mouth agape in awe before slowly shifting to a satisfied smile. Kissing him softly, Jaime met her eyes through half shut lids, and with lips still pressed together he grinned and began to chuckle, a low rumbling that resonated through his chest as he stroked her hair. 

“Gods wench, what have you done to me?” 

Shaking his head, he slid both hands to her cheeks and stroked softly, before rubbing one finger along the fullness of her lips. 

“Seven hells that mouth…where did you learn to talk to a man so? You had me hard as steel and soiling my breeches like some green boy.” 

Brienne raised her brows in mischief, then turned her head to capture his finger, sucking at it gently and laughing at his shocked expression. 

Jaime guided her head down to his shoulder, and she sighed, sliding her arms around his chest. 

“You make me feel beautiful.” 

The admission slipped free before she had a chance to think, the lingering bliss of her release making her lazy and uninhibited. 

“You are beautiful.” 

He said it with such directness, no jape at her expense hidden behind false flattery.She scoffed, and he turned to her, faces touching, heads resting on the same pillow. 

“You do not believe me? Is my reaction not proof enough of how I see you?” 

Silently, Brienne shook her head no, too many had told her otherwise, frequently and with a hatefulness that tore down her defenses. Jaime sighed, once again stroking her hair, whispering in calming tones against her cheek. 

“You are not beautiful as others are, your face is not fair, your body too wide and mannish.” 

She grimaced and started to pull away, but he held her close. 

“Your eyes are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, they belong on a goddess…could send men to wars and leave them weeping.” 

Jaime kept talking, his breath brushing her cheek. 

“Your legs are magnificent, and I have spent the last few weeks fighting the urge to knock you on your arse while sparring in the hope that you would roll me under and wrap them around my hips once more.They were made for fighting…and fucking…and they fit across me as if the gods made them for that purpose.” 

Blushing at his words, she found her smile once again.

“You will never be a beauty Brienne…_but you are beautiful to me_. I cannot look at you without knowing the woman beneath, all the things that make you incomparable.We are well past judging each other based on what others see.” 

Quiet settled between them, and she found it surprisingly comfortable to exist in his presence, without the distraction of words or actions. They should get up, wash the stickiness from their bodies and change their clothes, but she was hesitant to break the spell cast by his hands and words, instead curling tighter to his side and burrowing under his arms.Tracing patterns at the base of her spine, he hummed softly against her ear. 

“Whatever you can give me, if this is all we ever have…it is enough.” 

Jaime was not sure what woke him, whether it was the chill that settled against his skin with the loss of her warmth, or a subtle shift in the bedding as she stood before turning to tuck the covers back over his shoulders.The romantic part of his brain, which to his consternation was much more generous than he let on and as of late stirred frequently and with insistence; claimed that his soul could sense when she was near, that it felt the absence of her acutely and knew her unrest. He checked his breathing, her hand lingering like a mother looking in on a resting child, before moving silently away.

Cracking his eyelids he saw her shuffling through her belongings, pulling what looked to be a wad of gauzy white material from the bottom of her trunk and taking the thick winter cloak Lady Stark made from a peg near the door.She circled the bed to his back, and he heard a soft splash then drips of water as a rag was rung,the shuffling of material as she pulled off her night clothes.An image of her sliding the wet cloth along her long neck, wiping the crevice of pale silky skin beneath her breasts and the soft places under her arms and between her thighs made Jaime clench his fists, his cock hardening at the idea of rolling over, snatching her wrist and pulling her down into the cushion of the bed and the heat of his body. 

She moved back into his line of vision and he almost laughed.Brienne,_honorable to a fault Brienne,_ was keeping secrets. He could not imagine where she was headed in the grey of early morning, but she obviously intended on going alone and unrecognized.Bundled head to toe with the thick cloak—much too heavy a garment for this climate—she had donned it inside out, hiding the golden stag sigil.Slipping the sword he had given her into the folds, she tugged the hood forward to hide her pale hair, and crept out the door. 

Jaime bolted from the bed and yanked on his boots, just catching a glimpse of her tall form as she reached the stairwell, long legs taking them three at a time. She passed quickly through the kitchen, head bowed low, exiting through a servant door into King’s Landing. Far enough behind as not to be noticed, he found himself grinning at the wench’s preposterous idea that anyone might be fool enough not to recognize the giantess stalking the city. 

Back straight as steel, determination in every step, she was intimidating even in the dark, with her scowl well hidden and the girth of her frame and the brawn of her limbs covered by the cloak.Pride puffed his chest as he followed silently behind her, his lady would not be mistaken for another,she was magnificent in her singularity. 

The streets were dark and deserted, lit by few stars and a waning moon peaking out between heavy clouds.Even the wayward souls stumbling home from the brothels and taverns had made their way by this hour. He kept a distance, taking care to duck into alleyways or shadowed door frames when she looked back. 

Brienne rounded a corner and Jaime followed a few seconds after, stopping short in front of the Great Sept, solitary and imposing in the dimmed light. Slipping inside, her shadow passed quickly in front of candlelight spilling from an opened door. 

After a quick prayer to the _Seven_ that Brienne and whoever she was meeting were distracted, Jaime entered, ducking behind a column. 

She had pulled back her hood and was approaching a boy, an apprentice by his looks.Quick words were exchanged and he ran off, clutching his robes to keep from falling in his haste.

Brienne slowly circled the perimeter of the cavernous room, approaching first the altar of the _Father,_ lighting a candle and bowing her head.He could see her lips move silently in prayer, eyes closed, face relaxing with the familiarity of the action, hair and skin golden in the flames.She then walked slowly to the altar of the _Mother,_ repeating the actions as before. 

Approaching a dark alcove situated between the altars of the _Stranger_ and the _Warrior_, she carefully placed a burning candle in the center of the empty space before backing stiffly to the entrance.In the faint light he could see wax stains on the stones where others had done the same, and he wondered why he had never noticed it before. 

Brienne stood facing the candle, once again focused in prayer, but this time her face did not relax. This time she slid her hand to the hilt of her sword and squared her shoulders, eyes open and cheeks flushed in defiance. 

_The room had eight altars. _

Realization dawned, and a memory bobbed to the surface for just an instant, his mind struggling to grasp it. Cersei hiding in that space as they played, his fear of following her, voices in the shadows when she should have been alone.

His thoughts were interrupted when the High Septon came running, hair askew and robes rumpled, clearly roused from sleep. Stopping short a few feet from Brienne, he stared in awe, taking the last steps toward her with caution, as if she were something unknown, a creature of myth that was not entirely tame. The usually bold man looked shaken, his arrogance quashed under the weight of her gaze. 

They spoke few words, too quietly for Jaime to hear, before her lips tilted upward in a shy smile and she nodded. 

Slowly she began to loosen the ties securing the leather bands around her wrists. Jaime had assumed they were simply decoration, a constant fixture since her arrival in Winterfell, a gift from her father. The septon looked entranced by the movement of her fingers, unable to take his eyes away.Once bared she extended her arms in front of her, the man taking both hands in his before placing his lips reverently on the skin of each wrist and falling to his knees. 

They stayed that way a moment, frozen in place.When he looked up there were tears on his cheeks, smiling at Brienne as one seeing the sun after the long night. She helped him to his feet, the septon bowing low once more before hurrying away, leaving Jaime alone with Brienne in the sept. 

Glancing around to make sure she was alone, Brienne turned toward the altar of the _Warrior_. As she walked she removed her cloak. Jaime covered his mouth to keep from gasping aloud. Under the cloak she wore a robe of flowing white material, translucent in the flickering light, her nude form lit from behind as she walked.

The man he had been—before the tower, the bear, the tent—would have laughed at the absurdity of it.This brute of a woman was wearing such a feminine thing. Now he knew her, the inherent grace of her movements, the surety of her steps and the ferocity of her swing. He had experienced the peace of twining his fingers with hers, felt the power in her big, callused hands, able to crush and caress in equal measure. He may have once thought her foolish, but that was before staring into endless blue eyes and knowing at last what honor looks like, tasting redemption from chapped, broken lips. 

Images from earlier left him breathless still.Strong arms pushing him down, their breath mixing as she hesitantly whispered her wants against his mouth, the raw honesty of her words more seductive than any flowery declaration of love. 

Long ago, he quit expecting anyone to crave his touch, gave up on the idea of someone placing his needs before their own. Cersei always took her pleasure first, urging him to stroke her body and ego until she was sated, leaving him salivating over any scrap of affection left over. 

Brienne had worshiped him with her lips and fingers, used hips and mouth to show him that she understood the cost he had paid abandoning his twin, leaving no doubt that his raging lust was reciprocated, a shared beast that they would learn to tame together.She made him feel half a god, powerful in her arms, and just as quickly reduced to a whimpering boy, as he screamed and spent against her hand. His only consolation had been the feel of her unraveling in his arms at understanding what her touch had wrought. 

Gripping the sword he made for her, she entered the altar of the _Warrior_, bowing before the looming statue before slicing the skin of her left palm with one long swipe of the blade.Jaime flinched, forcing his feet to stay still as blood rushed down her arm, dripping onto folds of white. 

With precise movements she stroked the blade, coating it red, before unceremoniously shedding the thin garment and kneeling, forehead flush with the stone floor, muscled arms extended in front of her body with the weapon balanced on her palms, knees tucked beneath her wide frame.  Jaime’s breath caught in his throat. 

In the candlelight her skin was reflective, as if coated with a fine sheen of water. From a distance he could see the wide, pale scars marring her back and thighs, count the ribs that gently protruded, covered by taut white skin and rippling muscle. As she sunk lower he saw the edge of her pelvis jutting forward, settling over thick thighs. Only then did he notice the markings on the soles of her feet and the underside of her wrists—eight pronged stars, angry red against porcelain skin, raised like a burn. 

As he watched she began to glow, a faint light that chased the shadows from the dim space, quickly darkening to deep gold. Steam gathered over her back, the heat of her body meeting cold air.Memories flooded him—of fingers trailing through cold water, mist swirling between long legs as she forged into the stream—of scorching hands crashing into his chest as she flew at him in the practice yard, having flung her body into the air with a force impossible to imagine—glowing eyes boring into his in the dark of a tent as he felt his world shifting.

The marks on her skin darkened, then blazed the color of live embers, the smell of charred flesh filling the room as she was branded from within.Flames burst from the sword, her blood fueling the fire as it burned red, then blue, the altar alight in an unnatural color. 

When he first met her in battle he thought her the _Warrior_ incarnate.  Now he understood.

She had spoken of being claimed by the _Warrior_, and in his ignorance he thought it meant a calling, not a possession.She was not _of _the _Warrior_, she _was _the _Warrior_.He lived in her, his blood flowing in her veins, his heart beating in her chest. She was no longer human, not completely. 

A part of him ached for the girl she had been, clinging tight to a maiden’s desires as she was burdened with a god’s ambition. She was glorious and terrifying, a being of light and power brought forth from legend. He wanted to rush to her, to fling himself on the ground beside her and pledge his life. Instead, he slowly backed toward the door, slipping out in silence and running toward the Keep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was it, my first attempt at writing a (near) sex scene. Please let me know what you thought worked and what didn't, as I love constructive criticism and want to make my writing better. If a line was particularly good (or made you cringe) point it out and let me know. My friends have been especially patient this week, as I am slightly more neurotic than usual about this chapter. Thank you Meriwyn, Jailynn, Sari, Madelyn, and Ro for holding my hand over this. I have the nicest writing friends. 
> 
> Please check out their work on AO3:  
Ro_Nordmann just finished Chaos is a Ladder and has done a whole lot of beautiful short stories for prompts lately.  
Meriwyn is working on To Be Human, but also read The Sapphire Wench and The Lord Commaner and the Master of Law which are both so well done and pretty.  
NightReaderEnigma just finished Marked For Loneliness and is working on As the Ink Dries.... ; but also check out Sapphires (just because it's lovely).  
JailynnW has a whole bunch of balls in the air (Howl at the Moon, All Hail the King, Whisper My Name In the Dark, The Warrior, The Stranger and the Chance, and Just For Tonight...And Maybe Tomorrow) all of which are well thought out and generally wonderful.  
rubberchicken4U just started posting Memories and keepsakes-prompts filled and unfulfilled (and has put up with a lot of silly prompting from me).


	12. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime stood by the window, leaning against the sill as the dawning light cast his shadow across the still dark room. Their eyes met, and she saw the war of concern and anger in his face, brows furrowing as he took in her appearance, gaze sliding to the blade in her hand. Pushing off the wall he strode toward her, grabbing the edge of her cloak and throwing it open to reveal the stained white material beneath. 
> 
> Deep in his throat he whimpered, a fearful, wounded noise that made her wince, as with trembling fingers he outlined the shape her blood had made. Slipping his hand to hers, he cradled her fingers, thumb stroking the cut made by her blade, seared shut with the _Warrior’s fire._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter comes with a mild warning for violence which I do not believe is out of proportion to what was found in the show or books, but could be considered disturbing by some. 
> 
> Thank you to NightReaderEnigma for editing the chapter. Thank you to Jailynn and Meriwyn for taking the time to think through a difficult scene and point me back on the right path when I got a little off track. Thank you to Ro and Sari for your support and friendship. 
> 
> Again, thank you to everyone who is reading this. It is a labor of love (with a little hate mixed in at times), I hope you enjoy.

Brienne was having trouble walking, just the act of placing one foot in front of the other left her breath heaving, legs quaking and cramping from the effort. She had known what the act required, the toll on her body allowing the _Warrior_ to take complete reign took, time spent kneeling a faint memory, something she took no part in but watched from afar. There was misery in the flames that licked through her flesh and poured out the markings on wrist and sole, she had felt the burning agony of it just before her own will gave over to something else. 

With a weak smile she looked down at her sword, the _ Maiden Fair _ swirls of blue dancing on the surface of the blade faintly visible in the pre-dawn light. The pain was excruciating but necessary, the blade now blessed by the _ Warrior, _tempered with her blood, fit for the task before it.

Her thoughts drifted back to Jaime, shivering at the remembrance of his hands on her hips, his lips on hers. Heat built in the pit of her stomach, coiling outward, driving away the cool of the night, and she was filled with a girlishness that was shocking in its newness. Her cheeks hurt from grinning, and she pulled her hood higher and covered her mouth with her hand, feeling the flush of her face against her palm. 

She hoped he was still asleep, still in her bed. Her labored footsteps quickened at the promise of crawling under the covers behind him, wrapping her arms around his solid chest and allowing her body to mold to his, sink into his warmth and let her breathing fall in time with his.

Quietly she pushed open the door to her quarters, Jaime stood by the window, leaning against the sill as the dawning light cast his shadow across the still dark room. Their eyes met, and she saw the war of concern and anger in his face, brows furrowing as he took in her appearance, gaze sliding to the blade in her hand. Pushing off the wall he strode toward her, grabbing the edge of her cloak and throwing it open to reveal the stained white material beneath. 

Deep in his throat he whimpered, a fearful, wounded noise that made her wince, as with trembling fingers he outlined the shape her blood had made. Slipping his hand to hers, he cradled her fingers, thumb stroking the cut made by her blade, seared shut with the _ Warrior’s _ fire. 

With a groan he swept his arms around her, crushing her to him with a desperation that flattened her lungs and made her ribs ache. Frustration and panic fueled his movements, the need to surround and protect her overpowering any hurt or fear he felt. An uncontrollable trembling started in her shoulders, terrified that if he broke through her resolve, fatigue and desire would overwhelm her, reducing her to a simpering maid in his arms. 

“You know…you saw?” She managed to choke the words out, face buried in the crook of his neck. 

He seemed unable to speak, hands running up and down her back, finding comfort in the solid muscles and wide frame. After a few minutes he nodded, not lessening his grip as he spoke. 

“I followed you to the Sept, I was worried…and curious.” His voice lowered a bit, afraid that she would misconstrue his actions as distrust. 

“Gods Brienne you were on fire…I could…”The words caught, and he shuddered at the memory. “I could _smell _your skin burning.” Both shaking now, each trying to steady the other, determination keeping them upright. Reaching between them he tugged her wrist to his mouth, frantically kissing and rubbing his lips over the raised scar. 

“Please…please tell me…what…are…you?” He continued to press kisses against the scorched skin, moving to her temple, her cheek. “Seven hells Brienne I need to know!” 

“Are you human?” He whispered it against her lips, eyes like emeralds boring into hers. It took all of her bravery not to look away, shut him out and surround herself with the armor of her training, to retreat into the person she had been, the woman she was before his touch transformed her into something more, had given a softness to her strength. 

“Yes?…No?…I don’t…I don’t know…” It sounded stupid, how could she not know what she was. Water pooled in her eyes, puddled under her lower lashes before sliding down her cheeks like a cup silently overflowing, the release years in the making. 

“I was born human, the Evenstar’s daughter, descended from the first men, raised to be a soldier for the _Warrior_, an army of faithful. Every generation one fighter is claimed, his Chosen One.” 

She pulled slowly from his embrace, keeping hold of his hand as she moved to the bed and he followed, sitting so close that their thighs touched, as he wrapped his arms around her waist and tugged her against him. “We were attacked, a demon was in my house…he was going to kill my _father_…my _brother_. I didn’t think I rushed in…fought them off. And in that moment I was deemed _worthy.”_

Her voice sounded bitter to her ears, and for the first time she acknowledged it, how much she longed for what she had lost, how angry she had been at having her childhood taken, her womanhood stripped from her. 

“It hurt so much…like my insides were baking, my skin aflame. The _ Warrior _branded me, marked me as his own.” Holding her wrists in front of her, he took one in his hand, with feather light touches mapping the raised outline, she sighed at the contact. “When it was over I was stronger…quicker…able to see the movements of my opponents before they happened.” 

Taking a deep breath she continued, he would know it all. “I have trouble controlling it, the power always there, simmering beneath my skin, just waiting to boil when the fight is grueling, when my nerves are rattled. I spent half my childhood in the sea…a way of not feeling hot and sweaty all the time. Here…there’s no escape.”

“You said that there was not enough of you left over…not enough for me, for us…why?” He was looking down at their entwined hands, the usually proud lion suddenly timid.

“There has never been a female Chosen One. They don’t know what to make of me.” She laughed, more bark than chuckle, the sound lacking true mirth. “They believe that if I marry ...if I…gods Jaime…” Unable to continue, she buried her face in her hands, red streaking her neck and chest, tears once again threatening to fall. 

It was too much, her soul was naked, laid bare in front of this beautiful, frustrating, magnificent man who stormed into her life, smashing through the barriers of belief and expectation, throwing her entire existence off axis until it rotated around him. Her memory now divided into the pale, dim existence before Jaime, and the vibrant chaos after. 

“If you marry…” His voice calm, soothing, encouraging her to continue.

“If I marry…if I give myself completely to a man, the _ Warrior _will take offense and remove my power. They also fear that, if I were to…that a baby could not live in my womb, that I would lose control of the power and destroy it.”

Brienne felt empty, the dreadful words finally out in the open. Jaime sat perfectly still, pondering what she had said. “The Chosen One before you, they did not marry?”

“My father was the Chosen One before me…I took his power.” One more regret spoken aloud, one more sin committed without intent.

“So he did not lose his power, not until the _ Warrior _deemed you a more suitable choice? Your fate is not certain.” There was hope in his voice, just a glimmer, and she found it infectious. 

“No” She shook her head, conceding the point. “Guesses and assumptions…but not certain.”

Jaime pressed gentle kisses to her forehead, her eyelids, and Brienne relaxed into him, suddenly exhausted. Seeing the fatigue in her face he stood and pulled back the covers, nudging her with his hip and smiling, nodding toward the empty bed. 

“Go on…Pod and Tommen can miss one morning, you’re in no condition to spar.” 

She gratefully crawled in, head flopping against the pillow with a satisfied groan. To her relief he slid in behind her, nuzzling at her hair and slipping an arm around her waist, desire flaring briefly at the familiarity of his movements, before waning into a sleepy warmth. 

“They will assume we are together…when we don’t show up to break our fast or train. They will think you are warming my bed.” There was a giggle in her voice, unable to care any more what was said of them.

“They would be right I suppose.” He was her lion again, all growl and swagger as he kissed and nipped at her neck, both too tired to take his flirtations seriously.

“I would choose you…over power, over duty or honor…my choice is you.” Brienne whispered the words into her pillow, afraid to turn and see his face, thinking her devotion a gift he would rather not receive. 

Instead he seemed to wiggle closer, crawling under her in his need to be close. 

“And I choose you…always. Whatever the future holds…mine is with you.” 

* * *

The note was simple, in a child’s writing, with childlike thoughts. “Mother is acting strange…we are scared…please help.” Tommen asked him to come to his quarters that night and help decide what to do. Jaime was reluctant to call attention to the boy, fearing the retribution it might bring, but he could not ignore the pleading tone in his words. 

Brienne was away with Robert, some gods awful week long hunting treks, the days leading up spent bemoaning her fate, not looking forward to either the company she would keep or the accommodations. He had teased the wench, calling her soft for wanting to sleep in her comfortable bed with his body pressed close. 

They had spent every night since their talk huddled together, having come to the understanding that until her mission was over this was as much as they would allow, a few gentle caresses and relatively chaste kisses, the comfort of each other’s company. 

Pod traveled with her, in his most grown up voice assuring Jaime that he would watch over _ their _Lady, taking turns sleeping to make sure no one took advantage. His soft brown eyes so earnest, Jaime would have hugged the lad had he not been loath to embarrass him thoroughly. 

No one was in the hallway, none guarded Tommen’s chambers. Jaime knocked softly before pushing the door open and scanning the darkened room. Instantly he recognized the figure outlined by flickering candlelight, she had populated his dreams for as long as he had memory, the one who had taught him desire, now schooling him in fear. He wondered if he would ever catch up with his sister, it seemed he had been grasping at her coattails since birth. 

“Where is Tommen?” Gritting his teeth he feigned a smile, forcing a surety that he did not feel.

“No greeting for your sweet sister? Come Jaime, have we at last become the savages they claim?” Reaching her arms toward him she raised her brows, lip quirking in challenge, daring him to chance the embrace. 

“We have always been savages Cersei, products of our own lust and arrogance. It was hidden behind a pretty veneer, excused with money and power and obscured by fear…but savages nevertheless.” Hesitating for just a moment he took both her hands in his, bending forward to place a chaste kiss on her temple. She huffed in disapproval. 

“What happened to that fine cock of yours brother…has the bitch castrated you entirely or does she allow it to come out and play on occasion. Tell me, what is it like to lie with a woman who could crush you as you come, strangle you in your sleep…is it thrilling? If it is pain you desire with your pleasure…” 

He knew this side of Cersei, the jealous, beastly parts of her heart she only shared with him. There was a thrill to it, and he lingered briefly in the memory of nights spent fighting until they fucked, hatred and love as intertwined as their bodies, unsure whether he was trying to tear her apart or crawl beneath her skin and never leave. The temptation was still there, he could lean into her embrace, grab her hips and cover her mouth with his and all would be as it was before. 

_ Before Brienne. _

Jaime smiled, a softening of his eyes and lips that he could not suppress when thinking about his wench. Cersei felt the shift in him, saw the weak stirrings of arousal transform into something which he knew must resemble love. There was no before, that man no longer existed, the memory of him fading like tendrils of a nightmare torn loose on awakening. 

Rage flamed in Cersei, she could read his thoughts, sense how completely his devotion had shifted. She bared her teeth and snarled, a rabid look twisting her beautiful face. Eyes like wildfire. 

“Too bad, I was rather looking forward to the pleasure. Pain will have to suffice…”

Lurching forward she tangled a hand in his hair and twisted, biting the exposed softness of his neck with such force that the flesh torn between her teeth, his warm blood coating her lips. 

_ “_Seven hells_, _let me go! Why would you…Gods Cersei, what has become of you?”

_ “_I die_d Jaime! _ You left me…took your light and love away and the girl I was _ died!” _

Hand still twisted in his hair she pulled his face down to meet hers, heat from her breath flamed his cheeks, a mist of bloody spittle settling on his skin. Cersei pressed into him, muscles quivering with rage, her eyes so close that Jaime could see darkness swirling in the emerald orbs like oil in water. Ribbon upon ribbon of black, twisting and tangling in the green depths, writhing like worms, the darkness growing more dense until there was nothing else. 

Inky pools stared up at him, a power old and evil stirring in the abyss. 

Jaime was going to be sick. Guilt like a steel band fastening around his chest, the latch slowly tightening, squeezing the air from his lungs and bearing down on his frantic heart, each beat more labored than the last. His sister was gone, something horrible existed in her place. 

“Empty…I was born so empty…always wanting, needing something I could not name. I tried to fill it with your light…do you remember?” 

Cersei whispered the words against his neck through bloody teeth, letting go of his head and settling her arms around his chest in an embrace that felt childlike, rage fading into resigned remorse. Jaime found himself draping his arms across her shoulders and stroking her hair, a familiar comfort, the action conjuring images of a beautiful girl climbing into his bed, feeling the tug as her skin met his—a chill to his flesh, a warmth to hers— the memory of life shared between them. 

He wanted to cry for the loss of her. 

“It never lasted long, the light would fade, leaving me ravenous, more desperate each time. I finally realized I was never meant to keep it…that was your blessing not mine. No…I was conceived in the dark, shaped to hold it instead.” Jaime was shaking his head, this was a truth he did not want to understand.

“You never knew.” The anger building in her voice again, tenderness fleeing in the path of her hate. 

“You fucked me every night, looked deep into my eyes and never saw that I was _missing,_ never realized that something else had crawled inside, filled the gap you could not.”

“I gave myself to him, to the _Void_. Long before this body could be sold to one simpering lord or another in exchange for power, I claimed my own. His darkness flows in me…the emptiness growing…spreading. He will reign over us all…I will rule beside him. His queen.” She was shouting now, voice manic with righteous fury. 

He had been blind. Love and lust kept him from seeing the truth, and now he would likely die for it. He hoped Brienne would figure it out, before it was too late. 

“I still want you…this body still craves you.” 

There was a desperation to her voice, once again grabbing him behind the neck with fingers like steel, an inhuman strength flowing through her frail form. Pulling Jaime’s face close, he stared down into dead, black eyes.

“Do you think you can hold the darkness as well as the light? You were created in the womb of the _Mother_, **_she_ ** made you strong…perhaps you can…” With that she crushed his mouth to hers, delicate fingers scratching like claws against his skull, the grip much too strong to be her own. 

The room dimmed, shadows creeping forward from every crack, gathering in his sister before pouring into him. Jaime screamed against her lips, the sound lost in the relentless press of skin and the rush of power forcing its way down his throat, stretching his stomach and pooling in his lungs. 

Once again he was in the mud of the practice yard, the vision of Brienne golden and glorious in her deadly judgement, holding his face in the foul water as it slid down his throat, rot filling him until his vision went black. His nightmare a pale reflection of what was happening to him now. The darkness slithered down his throat, a living thing, a fetid wriggling mass expanding and stretching to fill every crack of his being. 

Jaime beat at Cersei with his fists, bashing at her head until he felt the warmth of blood under his knuckles, her shoulders and back dented and swollen under the force of his strikes. Grabbing handfuls of golden hair he tore at it blindly, hunks pulling free and falling to the floor. He scratched and clawed at the smooth skin of her neck, her lovely face. His twin never wavered, clutching his lips to hers until he was left gasping for air, suffocating against her skin as Cersei moaned softly, the darkness still pouring from her mouth to his.

_ **Brienne!** _

His heart screamed out her name, trying desperately to pull his lips free, for one chance to shout at the heavens _“I am hers and she is mine,” _declaring his love in front of all the gods old and new, praying that his death would come swiftly and that someday, many years from now, she would find his unworthy soul again. For he would certainly be waiting. 

Burning cold filled him, limbs turning to ice, breath frozen in his chest. His muscles convulsed, beyond control or caring he fell to his knees and Cersei went with him, locked together as she forced her depravity into his soul. 

He was losing consciousness, his vision blurring, ears ringing from the lack of air when she finally released him with a gasp. Jaime flopped limply to the floor, unable to sit upright, bits of skin and hair caught under the nails of both hands. 

Cersei leaned over him, pressing her lips to his temple, gently brushing the hair back from his forehead. “Do not try to fight it sweet brother, it will only cause more suffering if you struggle. The _Void _cannot be resisted, _his_ power too strong.”

“Did you really think that I would give you up so easily? You are mine…from birth to death…**_You belong to me_**.” 

She smiled sweetly, and Jaime felt numb from the horror of it, his blood caught in the cracks of her lips and teeth. The face of his twin, the woman he had once loved, scratched and bruised by his hand.

“We will be together again…I can forgive your dalliance once you bring me the beast’s head.” 

With that she stood and smoothed her skirts, pulling back her hair, wiping mouth and cheeks on her sleeve as she headed to the door. He heard it shut behind her, too weak to raise his head and watch her go.

Jaime felt waterlogged, the _slosh, slosh, slosh_ of his heart odd in his chest, the air in his lungs molten metal, burning and heavy. He tried to stand and felt his insides shift, a back and forth swishing, like water in a basin, everything too heavy, too full. Overwhelmed, he laid back on the floor, wondering where Brienne was now, what she might be facing in the woods with Robert, with only Pod to watch over her. 

It started softly, a thousand voices, everyone and no one speaking in unison, growing in number and volume as the minutes passed. 

_"Kill the woman. Kill the Chosen One.”_

Cupping his hands over his ears he rocked back and forth on the ground, trying to drown out the sound with movement. The voices persisted, insistent and unrelenting, the same words over and over. 

He was no longer alone. 

* * *

_**Brienne!** _

She woke with a strangled scream. Driven by fitful visions of Jaime, she had rolled and squirmed, waking with her furs wrapped tight against goose fleshed skin. In a panic she thrashed against the stiff material, still hearing the echoes of his voice screaming in agony, crying out her name again and again. He was suffocating, something thick and rancid filling his throat, his thoughts muddled by lack of breath and something else she could not name.

_Jaime was scared._

That thought terrified her most of all, drove the sleep from her exhausted mind and forced her to call out to Podrick standing watch near the tent entrance as she tried to catch a few hours of rest.

“Pod…Podrick?” 

She could discern the boy’s outline a few feet away, crouched on his haunches, staring into the flame of a lantern. He did not respond to her calls, made no move in recognition of her voice. Fear for her charge added to Brienne’s already growing terror, her movements became frantic, clawing her way out of the bedroll and dragging herself the distance between them. 

Podrick’s face was slack, his expressive mouth falling open, shadows cast in the hollows of his cheeks by the flickering light. Rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet he began to mumble, the sound so soft that, despite being pressed closely to his back, she could not make out the words. Gently, Brienne cupped his jaw in her broad hands, turning him to meet her gaze.

_His eyes were black._

No white visible, the beautiful brown circles she cherished lost in inky puddles. Brienne bit her lip to keep from screaming, instead running her fingers through his hair, smoothing the curls and leaning forward until her head rested against his. 

“What do you see Podrick? Jaime…Is it Jaime?” She knew the answer already, could feel it at the core of her being where the ties to him had root, where her love and that of the _Warrior_ and the _Mother _mingled to form a bond stronger than anything she could have imagined. 

“Green has turned black, the cold fills him, burning…agony and madness…calling out to the gods for release. He will die before he surrenders. She does not understand love…only possession, only want and desire.”

His eyes suddenly focused, the darkness melting away. Podrick stared at her with a trembling lip, tears running down his sweet face.

“His sister does not understand, he is already claimed, there is no room for the _Void _in his soul. It will kill him.”

Brienne wrapped her arms around his small shoulders, and he sunk unto her warmth, burying his head in the crook of her neck, releasing tortured sobs. 

“Grab only what you need for the journey back, leave the tent and bedrolls. We depart as soon as possible.” She whispered the words against his hair, strong hands running up and down his back in soothing strokes. 

It was more than a day’s ride back to the Keep, back to Jaime. She prayed to the _Warrior_, to the _Mother_ and the _Seven _to make him strong, allow him to hold on until she could reach him. 

“What of the king? He will notice our absence.” Podrick’s voice, was timid, shaky and broken against her neck. 

Brienne thought of King Robert requesting her presence at his side, knowing full well what his queen had planned, of all those nights she had retreated from his advances, choosing to hide and lie instead of fight. A fury lit inside of her, he was complicit in Cersei’s actions, he would share her fate. 

“I believe my service to the crown has just ended.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, please leave comments and let me know what you did or did not like, they make my day.


	13. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I am losing him._
> 
> With every quickened breath he was pulling away, his spirit separating from hers, desperate to slip her grasp and escape. He would protect her, use his dying strength to tuck the darkness tighter to his chest and keep it from her. 
> 
> Brienne knelt before him, so close a flick of his wrist could slit her throat, end her days before she drew a next breath. _I trust him._ Even with the darkness flowing in his veins, pounding outward with every beat of his heart, she trusted him. Jaime would jab the blade through and through, halt its anguished squeezing to spare her. She inched closer, their knees brushed, he trembled at her touch. 
> 
> Golden lashes fluttered in the moonlight, muted eyes like tumbled glass meeting hers. _It is there._ A weary, anguished sound caught in the back of her throat, as she watched the rivulets of black swirl in the depths, his sister’s depravity let loose inside him. She cupped his cheek, thumb tenderly stroking the full bottom lip torn raw with worry, fingers falling into a deep hollow of his cheek. Her other hand encircled his on the blade hilt. If it came to it they would push together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was tough. Thank you to NightReaderEnigma for a beautiful job editing this chapter. Thank you for Jailynn and Ro for their suggestions, support, and general kindness when I was a little intimidated by where I needed to go. Thank you to Meriwyn and Sari for pre-reading and giving advice and friendship. This fandom has been so kind.

Brienne rode relentlessly toward the capital, neither stopping to sleep nor eat, pulling bits of bread and mealy apples from her saddlebag and handing the majority of the hastily gathered rations to Pod. The boy was valiant in his effort to keep pace, falling asleep mounted on several occasions. She resorted to slipping the child into the saddle, in front of her, wrapping her arms around his chest, head bouncing against her breastbone as they trudged along in the darkness. 

It had been over a day since Podrick’s vision when they arrived at the Keep after midnight, the darkness of the hour allowing Brienne to enter unnoticed. The door to his quarters was bolted from the inside, a faint pool of light slipping into the hallway. 

“Jaime…Jaime…It’s me…open the door.” Brienne kept her voice low, rapping gently, her whispered plea echoing in the empty stone corridors. It took several minutes of knocking before she heard the shuffle of feet, the slide of a latch. 

In the short moments it took her to enter Jaime retreated to the far side of the bed, back flush to the wall, a furtive look hardening his features. Brienne almost wept at the sight of him. Her golden lion no more, the sickly pallor of his skin at odds with the dark trenches swallowing his eyes, their color so muted she found herself squinting in the dark, trying to catch a glimpse of green. 

“Stay back…I do not want to hurt you…I will _not_ hurt you!” He was fighting against himself, struggling to retain control of his actions, the toll inflicted on his body and mind terrified her. “It wants you dead. _Kill her, kill her, kill her, kill her…_ it’s driving me mad.” There was a needy pleading to his voice, he clutched the dagger she gave him with whitened knuckles.

“And still…you came.” He exhaled the words, eyes focusing in earnest for the first time since she entered his quarters, muscles loosening with the realization as he slid to the floor. “I was hoping you would make it…that I would see you before…” His gaze drifted to the dagger lying across his lap. Trance-like he pressed the side of the blade to his forearm, Brienne watched in fascinated horror as the surface sizzled under the press of metal, the smell of charred hair and skin filling the small space. With a yank he pulled it away, and bile filled her throat as a small patch of blackened flesh loosened with it, eyes widening as she saw the meticulous line of burns trailing along the exposed parts of both arms. 

“It does not like your blade.” Jaime spoke to himself. His arms, his own hands the focus of distrust as he lowered steel to skin, methodically marking it once more. 

“This is your blood is it not?” Tracing the blue swirls on the dagger’s surface with the tip of a finger, Brienne winced, his skin blistering at the point of contact. “You bled on it and the _Warrior_ set it ablaze…same as _the Maiden Fair?_” 

She was crying now, the sound of tears spattering against the stone floor drawing her out of his pain enough to notice. “Yes love…that is my blood, the _Warrior’s_ blood. The blade is tempered with it, made strong to stand against the darkness. Here…I’ll show you.” She moved with trepidation around the bed, his eyes never leaving her face, until she stood close before him. Crouching so that their shoulders were level she extended a hand, willing him to relinquish the weapon. 

“Darkness like me.” His voice felt untethered, a disembodied spirit dissipating into the wood and walls around her. 

With a whimper he turned the blade inward, its point now resting just over his heart, the fabric of his tunic dimpling as it drew tight to his breast. “I am a selfish man…selfish and weak.” Swinging his head back and forth in silent castigation of his own frailty before raising his eyes to hers once more. “I should have finished this by now. Spared you the torment of seeing what I have become…what I allowed her to make of me. So weak…I have always been so weak.” He was pressing harder now, the dagger’s tip marking the center of an ever expanding circle of red. 

Brienne felt the sweat roll down the center of her back. Teeth grinding, nails cutting into her palms, she wrestled against the urge to lunge at him and tear the weapon from his hand. Afraid that in her frantic fear she might err and drive it forward, that her own force might be that which killed him. 

_I am losing him._

With every quickened breath he was pulling away, his spirit separating from hers, desperate to slip her grasp and escape. He would protect her, use his dying strength to tuck the darkness tighter to his chest and keep it from her. 

Brienne knelt before him, so close a flick of his wrist could slit her throat, end her days before she drew a next breath. _I trust him._ Even with the darkness flowing in his veins, pounding outward with every beat of his heart, she trusted him. Jaime would jab the blade through and through, halt its anguished squeezing to spare her. She inched closer, their knees brushed, he trembled at her touch. 

Golden lashes fluttered in the moonlight, muted eyes like tumbled glass meeting hers. _It is there._ A weary, anguished sound caught in the back of her throat, as she watched the rivulets of black swirl in the depths, his sister’s depravity let loose inside him. She cupped his cheek, thumb tenderly stroking the full bottom lip torn raw with worry, fingers falling into a deep hollow of his cheek. Her other hand encircled his on the blade hilt. If it came to it they would push together. 

“This is not how our story ends.” Brienne tried valiantly to smile, realizing after that the press of her lips and tears which stubbornly insisted on falling must make for an ugly spectacle. Jaime would not care, he alone recognized all her unpracticed faces, would know what passed for love. 

“What story is that wench?” Leaning into Brienne’s touch he closed his eyes, languidly rubbing his stubbled jaw back and forth against her palm as if to enjoy this last worldly pleasure. 

“The one where the knight in a white cloak rescues the maiden, guards her virtue with his life, delivers her home to her father who is waiting…” He chuckled at the mention of her father, and she pictured his face, how he would gawk at his gangly daughter, marching ashore with the Kingslayer in tow like the petulant child he was want to act. 

“Is this the one where the maiden slays four men and a bear because she cannot stomach the idea of watching another creature suffer?” His voice low and rumbling, he was smiling in earnest now, eyes crinkling at the memory. Before she might have misconstrued the action as mocking, now the warmth of it nearly melts her. 

_How far we have come…_

“Perhaps it is the tale of a warrior maid who stopped a despicable shell of a man from pushing an innocent out a tower window, further ruining his already wasted life…the one where she topples the idiot to the ground and stands above him glorious and glowing in the weak northern sun…I am particularly fond of that one.” A bit of sparkle flashing in his dead eyes as he looked her up and down, and despite the circumstances she blushed under his gaze. “Come now my Lady, who is really the maiden here?” His voice was suited for a bedding, and she swallowed the pained thought that he expected her rescue to fail, wanted the joy of watching her unravel under the raspy sound one last time. As if on cue her body trembled, Jaime grinned.

“Mayhaps we are confused. This is not a story of maidens and knights after all, but a fable of the gods…of the _Warrior_ and the _Mother_, the _Maiden_ and the _Darkness…_” She paused, her expression growing somber. “It is no small thing to be claimed Jaime, _you are mine…_” Moving her hand to his chest, she slid her fingers under the edge of his tunic, blood catching in her knuckles as she laid her palm flush over his heart. “There is a bit of the _Warrior_ in you, a bit of me as well…_we_ will not relinquish you so easily.” 

He sighed and nodded, relief flooding his face with the understanding that he could surrender this burden to her, lay his fate in her callused hands. She would save him if possible, slay him if necessary. He seemed profoundly comforted by the thought. 

“Give me the blade.” He did as asked, and she placed it on the floor beside them before leaning back to remove the wrappings from her wrists. “It will hurt…I will hurt you.”Jaime stared at her with such peace, a resigned devotion in the way his eyes caressed each feature of her face before settling on hers. “I need you beside me, my shield and my sword. I need your strength.” Huddling on the cold floor, a dawning breeze prickled their skin as they swayed to the throbbing in their chests and the pitch of their breaths. Brienne squeezed his shoulders, muscle and bone, firm and unyielding met her grip, bolstering her resolve. 

Jaime simply nodded and smiled, then with a pull as measured as the tide he slid into her, brushing his mouth against hers. Wielding agonizingly soft presses of skin he memorized the feel and taste of her, lingering in the dip above her lips, licking at the corner of her mouth. Brienne sighed against him, closing her eyes and willing herself to stop and feel the potent heat of him, letting the memory curl tight in the dark recesses of her heart. 

Brienne slid her hands the length of his arms, positioning the raised red of her brands flush with the tender skin of his inner wrists. Jaime met her eyes and nodded, and she bowed her head and called out to the power lurking just below the surface, simmering under her skin. She willed it to grow, letting the heat consume her, as the tethers to her body burned away one by one, and she relinquished control to the _Warrior_. 

Flames tore down her arms, consuming her and licking at Jaime’s skin, restless to devour him as well. With an anguished gasp he closed his eyes and threw back his head, the muscles in his neck drawn long and firm as he screamed, Brienne’s chest clenched at the sound.

She did not release him, even as he began to squirm under her grip, as he writhed in earnest and his breath caught in heaving gasps. Brienne held fast, as his skin burned and she gagged with the stench, as he moaned, and shrieked and begged her release. The voice passing through his lips no longer his, a million tortured souls crying out together.

Just as sudden his protests stopped, the room filling with a suffocating quiet, as Jaime opened his eyes to reveal a wall of black, icy and impenetrable. Brienne felt herself laugh. The enemy known at last, she welcomed the cruel smile that stretched her mouth into an ugly shape. From a distance she heard the snarl, felt her nails cut into Jaime’s wrists as her grip tightened and his bones creaked.

“Fucking bitch…ugly fucking whore. Let go…_LET GO._” There was none of him left, only hate and rage.

“You have no claim over him, he is _MINE._” Brienne listened to the sound coming from her mouth, watched as her body glowed bright as the Evenstar in her memory. “Release him now!” She growled the words, and it sounded like her, and her father, and a dozen other remembrances of Chosen Ones before her, all raging as one. 

Jaime blinked, and for an instant Brienne saw horror filled eyes staring back, the briefest glimmer of green in the dark. Her heart thundered, and suddenly she was drawn back to her body, flailing desperately at his shoulders and chest, grasping his neck and arms with a strength never felt before. “Fight Jaime…fight it, fight it, _FIGHT HIM!_” Her face inches from his blue eyes blazing as they searched for traces of him in the depths. 

_He roared._

A groaning, growling, furious sound that ripped from his throat and reverberated in the small space, shaking Brienne and stilling her movements. “_GET OUT_” He shook his head, trying to clear the fog from his mind, and Brienne held her breath, praying silently to the _Warrior_ and the _Mother _for his release. He trembled with the effort, and she willed her strength into him, the power filling him to bursting. 

“I belong to the _Mother_, I belong to the _Warrior_…I belong to my Lady, my woman…my _Brienne_.” His eyes were green now, glowing with their own light, lit from within with an intensity that matched her own. He _smiled…_

“I am a child of the _Mother_ …a prayer answered…a light in overwhelming darkness…a last hope.” His face flushed with joy as he recited her words, whispered across a campfire, when they were two strangers finding the flame in each other for the first time. 

Brienne met Jaime’s gaze, saw triumph flare for the briefest of instants before pain once more ripped apart his countenance. Like water pooling in seaside footprints the darkness leached out him, oozing from every pore, collecting and swelling in the space around him before crashing against her, a wall of frost and dread. 

_It is so cold._

Dark and cold without beginning or end, and she would not have known Jaime was there but for the feel of his hands in hers. She clutched him with a newfound desperation, certain if she let go now he would be dragged into the abyss, lost forever in the din. 

Brienne was suddenly a girl again, swimming in the Narrow Sea. The season too early and the water too cold for a child just shy of her seventh name day. She snuck away, waded too far and paid little attention to the gathering wave until it was upon her, beating her down and wrapping her in its icy embrace. Over and over she tumbled, sand and stones catching in hair and throat, tearing her skin and scorching her lungs until she was sure her father would find her blue and bloated, a victim of her own folly. 

This was much the same, the frigid darkness twisting and pulling, leaving her disoriented and aching. She held fast to Jaime, anchored by the knowledge that he was still _there_, right in front of her, fighting for his life, for _their_ life. He was strong, _they_ were stronger.

_Almost…almost, almost, almost over. Just a few more seconds, a few, just a few…few, few, few more. No breath, no breath, no…_

She surfaced with a gasp, the darkness tearing loose so suddenly that she could feel the vacuum of it against her skin, a whooshing suck as it broke free and slithered across the floor, shifting and coiling, reforming near the doorway. It stretched toward the ceiling, the figure towering over Brienne as she hauled Jaime to her chest, his body limp and lifeless across her legs. The creature shifted under her scrutiny, face after face flickered by, a myriad of features from people she knew, had known, loved ones and strangers. Finally settling on the ghost of a man almost forgotten. 

“Little Brienne of Tarth…you are far away from home, a lost lamb among the lions.” The demon from her childhood stared back at her, a visitor from Dorne who held his blade to her father and snatched her childhood with his wicked words and violent acts. “Why exactly are you here, what did you hope to accomplish whelp? Do you think he _loves you_…that he could ever love an ugly abomination like you…when he has claimed a queen, his golden sister, his other half?” Brienne looked to Jaime lying still in her arms, watching until she saw the faint flutter of eyelids, the subtle rise of his chest. 

Another life, another version of herself would shrink and crumble, cut to the quick by falsities bearing the ring of truth. _Words are wind._ These were a howl in the night meant to frighten children, and she was no child. 

“Go back to your mistress, she will have need of you shortly.” She reached for her dagger, squaring her shoulders and narrowing her eyes. “Give her my regards, let her know that a warrior maid seeks her audience bringing good news, the capital shall be freed.” With a nod it was gone, dissipating into the cracks and crevices from which it came. 

Brienne leaned forward, resting her head against Jaime, drawing the first unlabored breath since leaving Robert’s camp. Face pressed into his hair she whispered. “Come back to me quickly love…your sister is not patient.”

[ ](https://imgur.com/yWhqN3R)

The alcove of the _Mother_ was just has he remembered, suffused with red and gold as were most things Lannister, the shining visage of the _Mother_, placid and lovely in the candlelight, holding court with vacant eyes. His gaze darted around the space as he took in his surroundings, sweaty and frantic, heart thundering in his chest as someone waking from a nightmare. 

_I wonder if I am dead._

The thought did not bother him as much as it should. It was a question, a speculation on how he ended up at Casterly Rock when his last memory was of Brienne’s hands in his, righteous fire burning through his veins, purging the darkness and leaving him untethered. The only reason to keep breathing was his wench, he would crawl through all seven hells to get back to her arms, the need to love and be loved by her as necessary as air. 

This place was haunted. It was here he said goodbye, the shell of Joanna Lannister cold and hard in the center of the room, blond hair ashen, the flush in her cheeks bled dry. Unrecognizable from the soft creature who tucked his head under her arm and smoothed away his worries with a laugh and a sigh. He glanced over his shoulder, slumping in relief when he saw the dais empty, she was not there. 

A delicate hand covered his. 

_I know this hand._

Love and kindness, warmth lived in this hand. Jaime took a shaky breath before turning to find his mother, real and present and so, so close beside him that he thought to weep with the joy of it. 

“Why are you sad?” The words came out like a melody, the memory of it astonishing, caught in the lilting sway of her words, how she smoothed his cares away with the sing-song quality of it. Jaime grinned, threading his fingers with hers.

“I’m not…not now. How I’ve missed you!” The woman beside him smiled back, but there was something missing in the expression, an aloof distance that he never felt with his mother. 

“I have been right here, waiting for you to find me. Since your birth I have waited…and watched.” Jaime felt his insides tighten at the unfamiliar edge to her features, a bite to her voice that was foreign. She was casting judgement, and he bit his tongue, sensing the coiled power that lay dormant, barely checked beneath a fragile facade.

“You have wasted so much of my light groping at your sister’s darkness. So many blessings cast aside…but not _her._” At that her smile seemed to sink in, the emotion behind it solidifying, kindness softening the hard lines. “At least you can see the value of her regard… most men can not.” Her eyes sparkled in the dim space, the emerald color a match to his, but in their depths was wildfire, an inferno, all consuming. 

_The Mother._

Jaime had never been devout, had only ever entered a sept on necessity, a wedding, a funeral. Never to seek guidance or offer thanks. In _her_ presence he found his body moving automatically, sliding to his knees, bowed head hovering just inches above her red velvet skirts. He felt like a boy, torn between his fear of being chastised and the longing to crawl into her lap seeking adoration. 

Words formed on his lips, a prayer from a time before, one that he did not recognize but was somehow a part of him.

_Mother forgive me…  
Mother I did not know…  
Mother protect me from this evil…  
For I would rather die…_

Long, thin fingers slipped through his hair, parting the golden waves with quieting strokes, and against his will Jaime groaned, the soft purring sound he made when his mother comforted him so long ago. The goddess chuckled, a tinkling that floated away in the quiet, her hand still rubbing back and forth as she pulled his head against her. 

“I was there. Every time Joanna held you like this, each time she cradled you in her arms, every tear dried…I was there my son.” She sounded wistful, and Jaime was content to stay for as long as allowed, the memory of his mother alive and warm beside him.

“My golden kitten…you have not changed so much these many years. Does your woman know that you melt when your fur is stroked, hmmm.? You should tell her…there are many things you should tell Lady Brienne.”

“I love her.” 

_How can it be so easy?_ Jaime closed his eyes, trying to remember the man who had only wanted his twin, had expected to enter and leave this world having only ever tasted love from her lips. That man was lost to him. 

“Of course you do…your connection was decided long before she was born. A bargain made between your mother and I the night you were conceived.” Pressed close, her words a loving whisper, Jaime thought of Joanna, how she would perch on the edge of his bed reading stories of knights and maidens, his eyes growing heavy and his thoughts quieting. This could be such a tale, they could be there now, everything after a dream.

“Your mother prayed for you, and I granted her wish…placed you in her womb, gave you a bit of my light as recompense for all she suffered. You were her blessing and her regret.” He raised his head, concern tearing at the joy of the moment.

“Why regret?” If asked now, he was certain she would mourn her decision to bring the Kingslayer into being, but as a child he was cherished. It pained him to think she questioned her decision to bear him.

“She worried that carrying you alongside such darkness would corrupt you, that you would come into this world bound together and never break free. So I gave you a choice…brought into existence a woman so honorable that you could scarce help be reminded of the nobility inside you. Gloriously strong, impossibly kind, loves like the _Maiden_ and fights like the _Warrior_, no wonder _he_ claimed her as his own.” Jaime relaxed against her knee, blood warming at the memory of his wench alight in the sunshine, flushed and bold in his arms. 

“I hid her greatness behind an ugly face, an ungainly shape, so that you would have to look harder, see more…” She grinned at him then, so like his mother, shades of his brother in her crooked smile. “I was not sure you would succeed…you have always been vain.”

Jaime could feel himself being pulled away, tugging at his core from far off, growing in intensity with each passing moment. _Brienne is calling, she needs me_. He looked longingly at her face, the goddess and his mother both present in the green eyes that gazed with adoration at their wayward son. 

“Please, I need to know…” He was not ready to go, there were too many unanswered questions. 

“Give yourself without fear, she is your birthright as you are hers. I would never grant my child such love if it could not be experienced fully, if it would not take root and grow…” She raised her eyebrows, willing him to understand the meaning behind her carefully chosen words.

“Ask her about the _Void_…tell her of Aerys. There can be no secrets between you.” Tenderly she twirled a golden curl between her fingers, and Jaime tangled his hand in her skirt, holding fast to her gentle touches, the smell of her clothes, her soft smile.

_Almost gone, I am leaving her…_

“Tell my mother I am sorry for my failures. I love her…I love you…”

[ ](https://imgur.com/yWhqN3R)

The irony was not lost on Brienne as she carried Jaime’s unconscious form to the bed, glad for the lack of witnesses to the spectacle as she easily scooped him up in her muscled arms, head flopping against her broad shoulders. Comments the camp soldiers made regarding which of the two of them was bedding the other floated through her thoughts as she removed his soiled garments and bathed him, dressing him in soft fabrics and bandaging the wounds he had burned into his arms. 

Anyone looking would have thought Jaime sleeping, except that she had been unable to wake him, not since the first terrifying night when he screamed and tore at his hair. Calling out over and over to Cersei and Aerys, _‘wildfire’_ cried repeatedly from his fevered lips. 

When morning broke he fell silent, not rousing even when she shook him by the shoulders, shouting his name so loudly she was sure everyone in the White Tower wondered what act he had performed to cause her outburst. 

Brienne stayed by his side, searching his face for a sign that Jaime was coming back to her, whispering words of comfort and encouragement as he slept. The second night, she crawled under the furs and wrapped her body around him, hoping that her solid form would anchor his drifting spirit. 

The blue-grey light of dawn was spreading across the floor when she felt him stir, holding her breath as he turned in her arms, a sleepy smile on his face, bright eyes lit from within as they met her stare. Leaning forward he rubbed the tip of his nose against hers and chuckled, the sound rumbling through her, making her smile in reply. 

“Brienne…” He breathed it against her cheek, a prayer and a caress, and she shivered. A lifetime of love and want contained in that one sound. 

Then his lips were on hers, crushing and insistent, tongue thrusting without finesse into her depths, desperate for the taste of her. His touch lit a flame, fueled by the fear of losing him, fanned by remembered words of devotion shouted in desperation as he battled the darkness, she surrendered to her desire. A loud, agonized moan ripped from her throat as her tongue met his thrust for thrust, strong fingers tangling in his hair and pulling him tighter, unable to get close enough. 

Jaime growled and pushed her roughly to her back, rolling on top and settling his hips between her thighs in one fluid motion. Heat burned low in her stomach, her core clenching at the press of his firm arousal. In that moment she felt a maid in name only, her body wanton and reckless as she wrapped her long legs around him, ankles crossed behind his back she pulled him closer, raising her hips and rubbing against him in her need. 

“You are mine…as I am yours. Our love a blessing, we were made to be one.” He was frantic, kissing and biting at her jaw, hands rubbing the length of her in hard strokes, up and down, again and again, driving her mad. 

For a moment, Brienne was lost in the feel of him, until her thoughts caught up with her actions, the reality of where they were, what they needed to do settling like a cold breeze across her heated skin. With a groan she pulled her mouth from his, pushing gently against his shoulders, reaching up to stroke his face and soothe him with her caress. 

“Jaime…we cannot do this…not now. Cersei knows…she will come for us sooner rather than later. I need to remain strong.” The implication that somehow she would weaken if he claimed her broke through his fog of passion, he dropped his head to her shoulder, breath coming in ragged pants. 

“I love you.” He whispered it against her neck and Brienne felt her eyes sting, tears slipping down the sides of her face, wetting her hair at the temples.

“I love you too.” Her voice was broken and low, throat so thick with emotion as to barely make a sound. She kissed the top of his head, ran her long fingers through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp, threading and rethreading in the golden curls. 

Jaime purred, and then laughed. “I suppose you _do_ know.” He mumbled the words into her shoulder, amusement in the lilt of his voice. 

“Know what?” Brienne was sleepy. The rush of emotions receding, her body felt heavy and her mind sluggish. She blinked, tucking her head against his.

“How much I like it when you do this.” Jaime nuzzled his head against her hand, encouraging her to continue.

“Mmmm…” She hummed against him, the motion of her fingers languorous as she closed her eyes. “Most big cats do.”

They laid together in quiet, Brienne cradling him atop her, not bothered by the weight, neither wanting to separate. After a few moments her mind became restless, there was no time to waste. She took a breath and sighed, hesitating a moment and gathering her courage.

“Tell me about Aerys.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As all writers I LOVE comments. Good or bad, just interact with me please. I'm needy. Thanks for reading. Will update again as soon as I can, although the holidays are upon us. Hope it is a blessed one for you and your families.


	14. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It has been centuries since I last killed a Chosen One.” The Queen and her god spoke as one, an ancient icy breeze blowing through the sanctuary. “I must admit I miss the old days, when winter came more often and you would send some sniveling lad to meet me in combat. They never returned.” She sneered at them, fists clenching and unclenching with unfiltered hatred. The _Warrior_ prickled beneath her scrutiny. “Did they tell you that Brienne…hulking beast that you are…did you comprehend upon leaving that no one before had returned from such a quest? Or was it your fucking nobility that lead you to your death, too proud to refuse?” 
> 
> “Bite your tongue fiend, this one is different.” The warmth of the _Warrior’s_ regard washed over her, soothing her soul. “So pure, so good…Can you not smell it in the air, does her innocence not call to you?” The god reigned, stalking the _Void_ with weapons raised, wearing a complacent smile as if they were old friends commenting on the weather, rather than twin titans plotting each other’s demise. “She is more fierce than those who came before, the _Maiden_ and the _Mother_ preserve her, this one is not alone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of thanks to go around this chapter. Please see end notes.

_Aerys._

The word was a curse, scourging his thoughts as deftly as the madman’s wildfire would have razed the city. It seemed to his muddled brain he had heard it twice in rapid succession, once from the _Mother_ and once from Brienne, time loosened from its tethers in the safe confines of his bed. Visions of the Sept interspersed with the confusion of those first moments after his return to her, skin fevered with want as his mind flailed, desperate to gain purchase in this unlikely reality, alive and liberated in the muscled arms of his wench. 

“I killed him.” Jaime never shied away from the ugly truth of his actions, after all these years he would still wake with the smell of blood and shit fresh in his throat, hands sticky with the memory of death. 

Brienne huffed under him, the sound comforting as a caress. “No doubt. I do not question the action itself _Ser,_ but the motivation behind it.” She had not used his title for months, and the way she curled the sound around her tongue let him know she was jesting, amusement tugging at the corner of her lip. He nudged her with his thigh, pressing her gently into the mattress. “_Ser_ is it now? Does the Lady mock my knightly skills…perhaps I should show her my sword?” She punched at his shoulder, and he grunted dramatically in reply. “Scorned again. I am not sure my ego will survive our attachment.” She hummed, his heart fluttered in reply.

Light slowly crept across the floor of his bedchamber, he tugged the furs over his shoulders, flopping them over Brienne so they were both cocooned in warmth. His bones felt heavy and soft, sinking into her solid embrace. “He was mad you know? That was the treasure I guarded, in my cloak of purest white and my golden trappings…depravity, lust, madness.” Burying his face against her chest he let himself remember. _I am safe here, Brienne will protect me from my ghosts._

“He beat and raped the Queen while I stood outside his door, _pretending_ not to hear her screams, _choosing_ to ignore how she looked more broken with each passing day. ‘Foolish boy, you guard the King, not the Queen…’” _How many times have I heard the words in my nightmares?_ Tongue thick with disgust as he spoke them aloud. 

“Aerys fancied himself a dragon, awash in fevered dreams of fire and death where he alone would emerge…reborn…the legendary creature of his house sigil. Fascination with flames consumed him, he burned men for sport. The smell…_oh gods the smell._ All these years…I still wake retching, the taste of charred flesh in my throat, the sizzle and pop of skin baking rattling around in my head…and the screams, Brienne…the _fucking screams…_” Jaime choked, and she drew him tight, thick arms encircling his back, his waist, lashing him to her steady frame. A buoy in dark waters.

“And then it was _that_ day…that gods forsaken, _horrendous_ day…and Robert was at the gates…and I was sure, _so sure_, I would finally shuck his madness. _I did not know._ It was impossible for me to have known, the King never spoke of it. I still felt a worthless, stupid cunt. The great Lannister lion in his great golden chains…rubbish…” Jaime took a gulping breath, the pressure behind his words making him cough and sputter. Brienne listened in silence, her stoic presence taming his racing thoughts.

She stroked his back, strong, nimble fingers working small circles over his shoulder blades, milking the tension from his body as Jaime groaned softly.

“Wildfire” He whispered the word, as if speaking it aloud would call it forth. 

“What?” Brienne’s hands stilled, stretching her neck, she pressed her ear to his mouth. “Did you say…?”

“Wildfire, innumerable barrels stashed in the tunnels beneath the city. Aerys threatened to ignite it and destroy King’s Landing, slaughter millions of innocent people, just to spite Robert and my father. He called for Tywin’s head, told me to fetch it, the next breath giving the order to light the fires. _‘Burn them all. Burn them all. Burn them all.’_ Again and again…I could not stomach it, not one more crazed word, not for another instant.” Jaime’s eyes were unfocused, peering through time at the monarch he vowed to protect with his life, a promise given by a boy to a cruel man, undeserving of loyalty or salvation. “The King must have guessed my intent…he ran. I stabbed him through the back.” Jaime felt again the heft of his sword, the unquestioning plunge of his arm. Aerys twisting and screeching like a mouse in a trap, every squirm forcing the point deeper into his chest. _The blood._

Closing his eyes, he replayed the memory in his mind. Aerys falling, the pool of red, flowing like little rivers in the crevices of the throne room floor. The King dragging his body toward the door as Jaime stood over him, sword dripping, Aerys looked back and…laughed? _How did I forget the laugh?_ A crazed cackling that felt like ice water in his veins. _His eyes were black._

Jaime jerked upright in bed, startling Brienne with the movement. “Jaime…Jaime look at me, what is it?” She moved with him, wrapping her arms around him, brushing feathery kisses against his shoulder. 

He heard her, _felt her_, the need to reassure Brienne threatened to overpower any other thought. But there was something he had forgotten, something _important_. Jaime spoke as if in a trance, reliving the moments aloud so she could help him understand. “Aerys’ eyes…they were black…deep empty wells. Blood and vomit pooling in his mouth, suffocating him, and he…_he laughed._” 

“_Mother’s_ brat, do you think to stop me? I am his chosen one, the _Void_ existed before time, he will feast of the souls of the innocents and make me a god. Burn them, _I will burn them all._” The King’s last words. Jaime had discarded them as the ravings of a dying lunatic, pushed them into an uninhabited corner of his consciousness to wither and fade.

“I slit his damn throat.” Sweaty and shaking, Jaime clung to Brienne as the burden of his memories settled like an anchor, a familiar heaviness that weighted down his life. Lifting her wrist to his mouth, he drifted his lips over the brand, kissing each point of the raised star. “What does this mean? What is the _Void?_”

Brienne fingered his hair and sighed, her burdens just as heavy as his. “Eight points for eight gods.” Jaime raised his eyebrows, silently asking the question. _Eight?_

“The _Void_ existed before the others, in the nothingness before time. Darkness…lust…want. Those are his domain. Master and creator of the emptiness that just…_was_. He called forth the other gods on a lark, so that he would not be alone. There is irony in that, the god of loneliness abhorrent of his solitude.” Her eyes were so blue, he could see the flames flickering like sunlight in water, felt her wrist warm beneath his lips.

“He was dangerous, inconstant, his desires ever changing. The other gods mistrusted him, felt betrayed by his unending need to consume, to destroy what they had made. They chose us…humanity…over their own creator. The war has raged ever since.” Jaime felt the _Warrior_ waking, heat radiating through her clothes, warming him where they touched. 

“Men have forgotten him, his altar left empty in every Sept, but there is weakness in forgetting. We can never defeat him, not completely. Only push him back into the shadows, live to fight again. For centuries we have trained and fought, children of the _Warrior,_ resisting until nothing remains.” She turned away, looking so much older that her fragile years. Once again he grieved the girl she had been, the woman she might have become if not chosen. “Men like Aerys will always exist, willing to sell their souls for a bit of the _Void’s_ power. Killing him was a mercy.” There were tears in her eyes as she met his.

“You saved so many people, and no one knows. Why do they not know?” Brienne was holding him so tight his shoulders ached, her head burrowing into him, mouth pressed against the crook of his neck.

“The _why_ of my actions never mattered, not to my father who gained a position of power in the court, not to Robert who gained a throne. Honor, especially mine, was a small price to pay.” The truth tore at his heart for so many years, to say it aloud felt cleansing._ I do not matter to them, I never did._

“It matters to me…_you_ matter to me. I have dishonored an honorable man…I called you Kingslayer.” Brienne squeaked, the word catching on her lips like a curse, and Jaime could not help but laugh. 

“I _am_ a Kingslayer.” He gripped her wrist tightly. “And you are a soldier set upon an unattainable quest. My would-be Godslayer. It sounds so much more impressive wench.” She guffawed, shoulders shaking with the sound, skin cooling as the _Warrior_ released his grip.

“Forget your duties today. Stay with me.” Jaime laid down, pulling her with him as she sighed and settled against his chest. _Tomorrow, they can face Cersei tomorrow._

<><><><><><>

“My Lady…wake up. Please L-Lady Brienne…Brienne…wake up!” Podrick was shaking her, both hands wrapped around her upper arm, tugging frantically. 

“Pod…Podrick?” She squinted in the firelight, the boys eyes deep set and wide, mouth set in a grim expression. “What is it?”

Against her better judgement, Brienne had spent the entire day lazing. She could blame Jaime who took more naps than a babe, needing to regain the strength drained by Cersei’s possession. In truth, she had enjoyed whiling away the hours talking and reading, sneaking out to spar as the sun set over Blackwater Bay. Afterward they stole a plate of cheese and salted meat from the kitchen, holing up in his bed to kiss and cuddle, before falling asleep as they woke, arms and legs tangled, heads sharing a pillow. Seeing the frantic desperation in Pod’s face she regretted her decision, they should have acted while they had the chance.

“The Queen has taken Ser Jaime’s children to the Sept. I heard her talking to the King, she said…how did she put it?” His warm brown eyes grew wet, forehead wrinkling in concentration. “Oh._ I remember._ She said, ‘I will finally make them mine.’” For a moment his lips tipped up in a smile, glad to be helpful, before worry once again tugged at his sweet features. “What do you think that means my Lady?”

Brienne struggled not to gasp, one hand reaching out to stroke Podrick’s cheek, soft touches to show him how proud she was, how brave he had been. Her other arm pushed at Jaime, hard, rapid thrusts against his chest, waking him from a deep sleep. “I think it means that Cersei plans on possessing the children like she tried to possess Ser Jaime, only they do not have the _Warrior’s_ protection like he did. We must stop her first.” Podrick nodded, fat tears falling from his cheeks.

Jaime groaned, throwing his legs over the side of the bed, hitting the ground in a run. “I will get our armor, weapons.” He paused and met her eyes, the tortured expression tearing at her heart. “Bri-Brienne…my beautiful babies.” Voice cracking, he whimpered, biting his fist to silence the sound.

“Go…go. We will save them…I promise.” Jaime rushed to the adjoining room to collect their blades, Brienne waited until he was out of earshot before turning to Pod. “My sweet boy, I need you to listen.” She bent low, faces close she rubbed the pad of her thumb across his cheek. “You can not follow me to the Sept. Cersei will use you against me, she knows how much I love you…that you are my weakness.” Brienne felt the tears slip silently from her eyes and she let them fall, let the boy see her grief. 

“I love you too.” Podrick threw his arms around her shoulders, shaking with the violence of his sobs. 

“You must tell me of your visions. Be honest, you have kept something from me, I see the sadness when you look at Ser Jaime. Please Podrick…I am strong, I can bear it.” Brienne struggled to keep her voice from breaking. 

“I felt him burning, S-Ser Jaime. In my dreams I see green fire.” The words were whispered, his voice shook against her ear. She nodded, pulling him tight, holding him close until Jaime returned from the adjoining room. 

“If I do not return.” The boy tried to pull away, desperately swinging his head back and forth. “Podrick…listen to me. If I do not return you must go back to Tarth, to Selwyn.” She placed the wrappings used to cover her markings in Pod’s hands. No need to hide. “Take these to him, warn him of Cersei.” _Be strong, be strong, be strong._ “Podrick, please, tell him I love him.” Brienne pulled the child close once more, kissing his head before moving to stand beside Jaime.

In silence they donned their armor, sheathed their weapons and headed out into the night. 

<><><><><><>

Jaime did not remember the furious trip from the Keep to the Sept, had only a vague recollection of Brienne helping him into his Kingsguard armor with trembling fingers, withdrawing silently to don her new suit of Baratheon black and gold. The only solid memory is of her face, her full bottom lip held steady between overgrown teeth, silvery brows near touching in consternation, a look more mulish than he had seen in months. 

_I know her._

He felt a pang of near insuppressible joy at the realization. The capacity to glimpse her soul, so rare and pure, a gift he did not deserve. He saw the glower for what it was, a section of her armor, firm as plate, impenetrable as the Wall, painstakingly forged over years to combat a life of inconstancy and strife. Brienne bore it incessantly for the first months of their acquaintance, Jaime shrank from the knowledge that he was the cause of this look on more than one occasion, her hard lines now muted by the solace of their friendship, the world less of a burden together. 

He fondled the memory of her scowl as they sprinted through the darkened streets, bent double and panting from their exertions once their destination was reached. Brienne shifted to face him, eyes dropping to his from her slightly higher vantage. “Jaime, once we are inside…” Her gaze broke away, looking over his shoulder to avoid the stare. 

“There are no secrets between us Brienne…tell me.” He gripped her jaw loosely, stroking her chin with his thumb as he turned her face back to his.

“I will do everything in my power to save your children…_everything._ The _Warrior_ is not a forgiving master, he will take, and take. There are stories…legends…of Chosen who ventured into battle with the darkness and never emerged, consumed not by the emptiness, but by the light. Your sister is more powerful than anything the soldiers of the _Warrior_ have faced in uncounted generations, the likelihood that I will return to you unchanged is minuscule.” She spoke without inflection, as if reading from a letter, the sort that contained glib accounts of actions with little consequence. The end of her existence, _their_ existence, something she had accepted, in truth _expected_. He railed at her placidity, grabbing both of her shoulders and giving them a terse shake. 

“_NO_ Brienne, it does not have to end that way, promise me you will try, you will fight it…” _How can I live without her?_ The thought unbearable.

“Jaime.” She drew out the word, heat pooling in his gut at the intimate groan of her voice. “This is what I was created for, a calling so much stronger than an oath, the darkness beckons and I must meet it. I can not choose _what_ I am, any more than I can choose _who_ I love…and I was _born_ to love you Jaime, with all I am, and whatever I become.” Brienne brushed her lips against his, his entirety hummed in reply, desperate for the taste of her as he shifted a hand from her shoulder and yanked at her neck. Jaime licked along the seam of her mouth, begging entry until Brienne opened for him with a fragile moan, relinquishing control she drew his tongue into the depths to mate with hers. The contact was brief, Brienne withdrawing quickly with a sad sigh, both left gasping. Jaime ached at the loss of her softness. 

“I will not fight it Jaime.” Opening his mouth in protest, she silenced him with the press of long fingers across his lips. “I will make _any_ sacrifice, accept _any_ change the _Warrior_ deems necessary to defeat the _Void_ and save our…” Voice faltering, her eyes widened to silver pools in the starlight, fingers quivering against his skin as the blunder of her words solidified. “I did not mean to say…they are _your_ children, I have no claim…” Jaime’s mouth widened to a grin beneath her hand, lightly he encircled her wrist. 

“How is it every time I suss out the extent of my affection for you, something wondrous and unexpected falls from those delectable lips and I find myself once more adrift in the depths of my regard? Gods woman, why would I begrudge you claim of my issue? Even your half arsed efforts at rearing would put those of my sweet sister and I to shame.” He tilted the wrist he was holding, gliding his mouth over the mark of the _Warrior_, the thrum of her pulse warm against his skin. “I would thank you in advance for the kindness of keeping my children if something untoward should happen in the battle to come. They need one of us to survive this fight, if there is a chance… let it be you.” His eyes met hers, all playfulness gone, pleading for her assent. 

“Jaime I…” In the moon’s glow her tears shone like mercury, dripping from he glistening puddles and filling the lines of her face. “I will not leave you. I promise to do everything in my power to save Tommen and Myrcella. Asking me to condemn you to die, flee with your children and leave you to your fate…I can not.”

“Brienne please…” _I will beg. If it means you live I will most certainly beg._

“No.” The firmness of her answer left no negotiation. “Could you? If I command you to save your progeny, abandon me to fight and fall alone…could you?” It was a stalemate, both knowing the other would chose to perish together rather than live without. 

Jaime shook his head sadly, the stubble of his jaw rubbing against her silken skin with each shake of his head, relishing every tiny shiver produced by the movement. “I do not fear dying. Before my vision of the Sept…before I spoke with the _Mother_ and knew my own mother’s soul lived on…I was never craven. Death is part of life, its acceptance a contract struck between every soldier and the _Stranger._ Yet to watch you suffer and die…” Sadness twisted his features, his heart would surely tear apart at the sight. 

She placed her hand over his. “We will be brave together, and when my spirit is released from this irksome form I will wait for you in whatever lies beyond. This I swear on the old gods and the new. I will _always_ find you Jaime Lannister.”

Jaime nodded, finding peace in her words. “Then I swear the same to you Brienne of Tarth, my soul will search all seven heavens..welcome or no…never resting until we are one again.”

With that she released him, pulling the dagger from her boot and brandishing it in her left hand. Shying away she hunched her shoulders, skimming each wrist along the blade’s edge, thin red lines blooming against raised white scars. Jaime sucked in a breath, snatching her hand and turning it over. 

“Your wraps are gone…why would you?” He ran a thumb over the wound, just deep enough to bleed

“There is a purpose.” Turning her hand, she twined her fingers with his, he watched as blood trickled into the crack where their palms met. “Trust me.” He did, without explanation, without words. Drawing the _Maiden Fair_ she climbed the steps to the Sept with arms extended, rivulets of red filling the grooves of sword and dagger alike, the “pat, pat, pat” of drops bouncing off stone rang loud in the eerie silence. Jaime followed her, unsheathing his sword but opting to keep the dagger hidden, arming his left hand was more a hinderance than a boon anyway. Charging thought the front door they faced their doom. 

<><><><><><>

_There are too many people lingering._

Brienne noted the many _“worshipers”_ present at the hour of ghosts. She recognized their faces, soldiers she had traveled with on the march from Winterfell, serving girls and stable boys, all once friends, now lost to her. They stood as she passed, amassing in the space behind her, blocking the exit. 

Cersei was waiting for her in the darkened alcove that served as the altar of the _Void._ She had shorn her golden locks, the ragged mane just grazing the tops of her ears. Brienne wondered if she was covering the gaps made by Jaime’s desperate fists as he wrested hunks of hair from her scalp, the marks of his nails still fresh on her face. It made her no less regal, back straight and head erect, her queenly crown catching the candlelight in a gown as black as midnight. All vestiges of her former self shed, she was radiant in darkness, a consort fit for a god. 

Robert stood behind her, Joffrey at her side with a blade to his younger brother’s throat. Tommen and Myrcella knelt together, flaxen heads touching and hands clasped. The boy kept his head bowed, too frightened to move, but his sister furtively met Jaime’s eyes, hers red and filled with panic. Brienne could feel him tense behind her, heard the muffled whimper at the sight of his children’s terror.

“Steady.” She whispered the word over her shoulder, her heart breaking for him, she needed Jaime to hold his temper, wait until the right moment and exploit any weakness. This was no time for a fair fight. 

“Is she your master now brother? I thought you would tire of her monstrous body by now, if I had known you craved being held down and used I could have accommodated. I am stronger than I look.” Brienne was close enough now to see her eyes, bottomless pits, icy and vacant. She would kill them all without hesitation, her children, her lover, none would be spared. 

Brienne had no aptitude for military strategy, she was the weapon to be wielded, the _Warrior’s_ arm and sword, an army’s shield and battering ram. Never the head. She wished she could talk to Jaime, he would assess the situation and find the weakness, the chink through which a point could be thrust to gain purchase. She glanced in his direction, he was staring at the top of Tommen’s head, golden curls dark with perspiration, face gone slack.

During the long trek to King’s Landing, after their fragile peace had been reached and they grew accustomed to the feel of each other in the dead of night, Jaime would whisper his secrets. How Cersei would unman him with words one minute and grope and fondle him to arousal the next. How she would fling goblets at his head and pound him with her fists, all the while demanding he watch over her, protect _her_. How his father hated everything he stood for, everything he had become. When it was too much to handle, when the regret and impotent rage became too much to bear he would retreat into his mind, separate from his body and simply exist. 

He was there now, alone in the eye of the storm, a tempest of emotion threatening to shatter him. Brienne reached out with her sword, tapping it against his thigh, her blood spotting his breeches. The sight of it broke through his trance, eyes focusing on hers once more. She narrowed her gaze, bobbed her head a fraction in the direction of Joffrey and sighed, soft enough only he could hear, expelling sadness with the sound. Jaime’s look turned stony, green darkening to grey, the line of his lips taut. “I am sorry.” Brienne mouthed the words before turning back to Cersei. 

_I will do what has to be done._

“Why do you trust this boy to do your bidding?” Brienne addressed the Queen as if commanding Robert’s soldiers, her tone irrefutable, so sure in purpose. Joffrey was weak, a purveyor of unbridled malice, evil unchecked. If anyone could be goaded into acting without restraint, it was him. “Does he realize the shallowness of his worth, that you would gladly gift him to the _Stranger_ if it advanced your position?” Closing the gap between them, she called on the _Warrior_ to fill her with his power, her wrists flamed.

“I am the next king of the Seven Kingdoms, a prince of darkness, heir to the power of the _Void!_ You dare mock me?” _He is whining._ Brienne felt her mind slipping, the familiar feeling of relent at once alarming and welcome. The pressure in her temples built, a ringing in her head that bounced around inside her skull rending her almost deaf, the _Warrior_ demanding her acquiescence, his might boiling beneath her skin. 

_Oh Jaime…forgive me my love, please understand…stay silent._

“You call yourself a prince, a would-be king?” Brienne laughed, the sound ugly in her ears. “You are nothing more than a squirt of seed, a bastard born of incest, a quick fuck in the cover of night, too dirty to speak of in daylight. You are no king.” She heard the whisper of a gasp behind her, saw two gilded heads tilt in unison to stare at her with liquid green eyes. 

_His babies, I am so sorry._

Robert stirred beside Cersei, reaching for her wrist, eyes wide, lips pressed tight in consternation. “The boy…is he not?” 

“Come Robert, did you truly think I would allow _your_ issue to take root? I conceded a throne, do not ask more.” Cersei spoke to him as an unruly child, her pawn to command. Shaking loose from the King’s grasp, her eyes never veered from Brienne’s face.

Joffrey screeched with fury, eyes bubbling like tar as he dropped his sword from Tommen’s throat and stalked toward her. “You fucking cunt, you nasty lying brute!” Flinging himself in her direction, the _Warrior_ roared to life in response. Brienne burned with his power, pain lancing her wrists, arcing between her fingertips, as she surrendered to the god’s embrace. His thoughts filled her head, his words on her lips.

“Come whelp, be the first to fall.” She spoke with a voice no longer her own, low and threatening, it reverberated through the Sept, rattling the windows, upturning the candles on the altars. 

Joffrey sped his charge, sword extended, clumsy and rash it took but a flick of her wrist to disarm him. Brienne rolled with the stroke, using the momentum of his attack to carry the boy into her arms. Letting go of her weapons, she placed both hands on his neck, the skin sizzled. “Release the boy! In the name of the _Warrior I command_ you to release him. The _Void_ has no domain here.” She hovered outside her body, watching it glow and steam, Joffrey’s flesh blistered, then blackened beneath her fingers. 

The Prince laughed. In the distance Cersei screamed. 

Brienne tried to turn away, ripping at the strings binding her consciousness to the _Warrior_, as flames licked up Joffrey’s neck, curling the hairs at his nape. “There is nothing else, without the darkness I am empty. Don’t you understand you stupid bitch, I am the _Void!_” He wailed, writhing as his skin bubbled and boiled.

“So be it.” Her words came from far off, calm and clear. 

Brienne’s hands tightened around Joffrey’s neck, lifting him off the ground, as he flailed and howled. Her strong fingers dug deep into his windpipe, a sickening crunch followed by silence. The god and the maiden cradled his beautiful young face, fascinated by the bluing of his lips, tiny vessels buried under golden skin bursting with the strain of his thrashes. Together they squeezed…waiting, waiting, waiting…until at last he hung limp in her arms. The _Warrior_ tossed his body at Cersei’s feet, barking a laugh as it crumpled like a rag doll beneath her ebony skirts. Brienne cowered in a corner of her mind. 

Deadly silence followed, broken by the ragged sobs of Jaime’s children, too innocent not to grieve the death of their brother, despite his evil nature. Cersei stopped screaming as the life drained from Joffrey’s body, no place for mourning in her soul, now filled with white hot rage. 

“It has been centuries since I last killed a Chosen One.” The Queen and her god spoke as one, an ancient icy breeze blowing through the sanctuary. “I must admit I miss the old days, when winter came more often and you would send some sniveling lad to meet me in combat. They never returned.” She sneered at them, fists clenching and unclenching with unfiltered hatred. The _Warrior_ prickled beneath her scrutiny. “Did they tell you that Brienne…hulking beast that you are…did you comprehend upon leaving that no one before had returned from such a quest? Or was it your fucking nobility that lead you to your death, too proud to refuse?” 

“Bite your tongue fiend, this one is different.” The warmth of the _Warrior’s_ regard washed over her, soothing her soul. “So pure, so good…Can you not smell it in the air, does her innocence not call to you?” The god reigned, stalking the _Void_ with weapons raised, wearing a complacent smile as if they were old friends commenting on the weather, rather than twin titans plotting each other’s demise. “She is more fierce than those who came before, the _Maiden_ and the _Mother_ preserve her, this one is not alone.” Brienne pushed forward, surfacing in a moment of desperation, eyes glowing bright and skin flushing as she looked upon Jaime’s face. _Not alone._

“Shall all my brethren, my spawn, rally against me in this one girl. The _Stranger?_ The _Crone?_ Perhaps we should call upon them to bless her as well.” Cersei laughed, the _Void_ laughed, a twisted, bitter edge to the empty sound. “Pity there is no god of beasts, for she would be a worthy consort.” Cersei raised her hands, speaking loudly so that all could hear. “My children, the time has come to return to me that which you have borrowed…there is a price attached I am afraid. Thank you for being my eyes and ears in this time of turmoil, the _Void_ will not forget your sacrifice.”

With a flick of her wrists there was a deafening whoosh, and Brienne thought: _this is the sound a dragon makes._ A mountain of fire and fury speeding by so fast as to make hair stand on end and teeth chatter. Brienne felt the mass of it, the enormity, as darkness poured out of all those gathered, stretching toward Cersei like long black fingers unfolding. Throwing back her head, the Queen screamed, and it sounded like rapture, like release, as rot and death and destruction flowed into her, once more filling her, stretching her. She was almost complete.

One by one the black tethers pulled free of their hosts, like marionettes with the stings cut they fell, groaning a last breath as they puddled on the Sept floor. Brienne spun in a slow circle, unable to stop her legs from shaking, the bodies of people she had known piled all around, filling the aisles, slumped over benches. Seeing her dread reflected in Jaime, as one they looked to his children. 

Tommen and Myrcella leaned on their elbows in a parody of devotion, heads pressed to the stone floor. Myrcella covered her brother’s eyes with a fragile hand, peeking at Jaime through half shut lids, he nodded encouragement. “Good job my loves, you are so, so brave.” The whisper carried in the quiet.

Cersei turned to Robert with a snarl. “And you! A creature unworthy to brush against my skirts, whom I have suffered to rut into me, to groan and sweat as I gagged back my revulsion. Give me what is mine!” She looked the lion of her sigil as she pounced, the King agape, dumbfounded as she lunged, sinking her claws into his neck and smashing her mouth against his. Robert whimpered and bucked, at first pressing at her shoulders, then beating with his fists. His meaty hands grasped at her hair, but the short strands held no purchase. Brienne watched as darkness and light drained from the man, leaving a husk that fell with a thud at the Queen’s feet. Cersei turned to face them, licking her lips. 

Like a knight in a tournament Brienne bowed to Cersei who cackled her approval. “Shall we dance my Queen, the music is playing?” 

_Warrior I am yours._

The Sept quaked with a deafening roar, and Brienne was surprised to find it came from her throat, suddenly raw from the making of it. Pain and flames slashed through her, muscles quivering with pent-up energy, senses alight with battle lust. Raising both blades, her blood, the _Warrior’s_ blood, caught fire, blazing red, then blue as the heat grew in intensity. She glanced at Jaime, blue reflected in green, face awash with awe and love. 

<><><><><><>

Azor Ahai, Lightbringer, the prince that was promised.

_Princess._

Jaime stared at Brienne, blades sheathed in azure flame, burning with holy fire, filled to overflowing, the _Warrior’s_ power spouting from her eyes. A _princess_ was promised this incarnation, he found an abundance of joy in that realization, surrounded by death in what would surely be his last moments in this world. She met his stare, and he mourned the absence of her sapphire pools, replaced with molten gold, he ached to gaze into the ocean like depths once more. Basking in her radiance, his heart swelled at the noble tilt of her head, the steel of her spine. This mystical being was his wench, his woman. If she was the last sight he beheld, he would not lament dying. 

Cersei snarled, the sound rose to the ceiling and billowed in the emptiness, a moaning, grinding, shattered cry not born of a mortal. “I am going to enjoy killing you.” She slid her gaze up Brienne’s long legs, lingering at the space where her thighs met, slipping across her thick middle, the tiny peaks of her breasts, muscular shoulders. Cersei bit her lip, ran the tip of her tongue along gleaming teeth “I will suck the _Warrior’s_ light from your marrow, grind my teeth on your righteous bones.” Crossing her arms against her chest she took a steadying breath, then screamed, flinging her fists outward as if yanking open a cupboard, a wave of darkness splashing from her core.

Brienne strode into battle, blades slicing and thrusting in a blur of blue fire, shadow splintering into tendrils, reforming around her like the nest of a great dark bird, talons of black whipping and cutting at her skin as she spun. A hundred jagged spear tips, a thousand flails, landing blow after blow, the wounds forming then sealing just as quickly, seared shut by the heat pounding in her veins. Still she bruised and bled, tore and sliced, her movements exact, stance unwavering. He took two loping steps in her direction, determined to meet her in the fray, though without the _Warrior’s_ protection he would fall first. 

Searching out his gaze, Brienne graced him with a lingering smile that lifted the corners of her eyes, hands and arms continuing their frantic assault as time stretched and she motioned to him. _No._ Barely a movement, there nonetheless. _This is her battle alone._

Something in her shifted, a letting go that resonated in his soul, and like a smothered fire catching the breeze Brienne burst into flame, radiant waves of light scorching the darkness. Jaime watched in mute terror as the outline of her body shimmered and blurred, washed away in the _Warrior’s _blaze.

_She can not exist like this. _

Brienne’s warning swam in his ears, the Chosen Ones consumed by the _Warrior,_ lost forever. He saw the movement of her weapons, blue points of light darting back and forth at the center of her star. _There is still time._

“Cersei!” He screamed his sister’s name, the air grown dim and cold as he closed the distance, stepping over Joffrey’s body to reach her. _She looks a corpse._ Golden no more, her luminous beauty reduced to ash. She did not see him, black eyes focused on the light in the distance, reeling with every blow of Brienne’s attack.

“Please Cersei…gods Cersei spare my children.” It was no act, he begged for their innocent lives, no longer pretending she had any claim over them. They were his alone, _his _gifts from the _Mother_, protected against the depravity of Cersei’s womb.

“And what of your whore? Shall I spare her to slit my throat?” Jaime stepped closer, Cersei ignored his advance.

“Brienne is of no consequence. I will cut out her heart and feed it to you to keep my children alive. Forgive me sweet sister, I am the one who has sinned, punish me.” He was standing right in front of her now, she sneered, shifting her eyes to his, never turning away from her adversary.

“Come brother, I have always been more clever. Do not play at deception with me, you have neither the head nor the heart for it, and I am no lovesick fool.” _What do you know of my heart sweet sister? How long since it was yours? _ “You have warmed your cock between her legs for months, buried so deep as to never find your way out. I see the way you stare, willing to slit your wrists and paint the floor with your blood if she asked it.” 

“I would die for her…yet I love my children more.” Tyrion told him once the best lies contained a bit of truth, allowing the falsehood to easily roll off the tongue. He _would_ allow Brienne to die for his children, because _she_ would will it so, just as he would die for her and she for him. The depth of their love was beyond Cersei’s grasp. 

_Brienne is almost out of time._

Jaime fell to his knees, landing terribly close to Joffrey, hands fisting in her skirt. “Claim me again, I will not fight you this time. Feed me to the _Void_, or take me as your lover…your king. I will rule by your side or grovel at your feet. Please Cersei…please. I came into this world clinging to your heel, let me die as I was born, holding fast to you.” He blinked up at her, eyes like leaves in spring, wet with desperation. 

Jaime looked to the boy splayed on the floor beside him, his son, and not. Joffrey was an abomination, but he had loved him once. Remembering Cersei on her birthing bed, how he waited holding his breath as she thrust his child into the world one agonizing squeeze at a time. The wailing, soft package she held out to him, the only time Jaime held his son. _I loved you then._ With reverence he moulded the lids over his eyes. 

His sister’s face softened, only a fraction, the corners of her mouth turning up in satisfaction. Taking a golden lock, she twirled it between thumb and forefinger, rolling it over and over. “I will claim you. Come…” Tugging his hair, she pulled him to his feet, face inches from hers. “Do not fight the darkness, let it fill you as it fills me. We can be the same.” 

“I miss your eyes.” The words slipped from his tongue, he wished he could see the emerald of them once more. 

“They will change back…once she is dead.” Cersei twisted her hands in his hair, pulling his lips to hers.

_Warrior give me strength._

“I love you Cersei.”

_Mother protect my children._

“I love you too.”

_Maiden guard my love._

With a shout he plunged the dagger into her chest, gliding between ribs, skewering her heart. The action so sudden, the blade so sharp, Cersei did not react, staring at the hilt protruding from her breast with a look of disbelief. 

Cold poured out of her, the same miserable cold that had filled his throat and threatened to push the life from his eyes as she claimed him once before. Coating the dagger, it froze the skin of his sword hand, adhering it to the metal. _It burns…gods it burns! _He groaned with the pain, and Cersei tried to laugh, bloody spittle catching in the corners of her lips with the attempt. 

Jaime watched the depravity leech out of her, creeping up his arm, the skin blackening where it touched. Frostbite, the sort that feasted on men lost beyond the Wall ravaged his skin. It scorched like wildfire, the flesh boiling and bleeding in its wake. Further and further it climbed, stripping his shoulder, his chest, tendrils searing his his neck as Cersei gasped and convulsed against him. At last the darkness stopped flowing, replaced by a cascade of blood that quickly soaked her bodice.

Cersei blinked once, twice, weak green eyes flitting back and forth, frantically trying to focus. “Jai-Jaime…” The word a wet, broken whisper, he used his left hand to cradle her head as her neck lolled. “Shhh little lioness, I have you.” He felt her knees give way, and he lowered her to the floor, his ruined hand still gripping the weapon that killed her. _Kinslayer. He would add that to his tally of sins._ “Rest now.” He pressed his lips to her forehead and prayed for her lost soul. _Mother take her, please…_

As quickly as it began it ended.

The swirling black mass froze mid air, rattled and shook before wrenching itself apart. Trails of darkness scattering to the corners of the Sept, slithering under door frames and windowsills. Escaping into the night. 

In the center of the emptiness Brienne stood, Jaime’s chest clenched and he forced himself to breathe, eyes stinging at the sight of her. His wench. Still proud. Still stubborn. Not an inch of skin was spared, purple splotches and jagged wounds overlapped, face and neck smeared with blood. Hair dripping with sweat, armor dented, weapons extinguished. The _Warrior’s_ glow was slowly fading, and with it her resolve, she melted onto the floor, boneless with fatigue.

<><><><><><>

_Pain._ Jaime was having trouble thinking through the pain, his arm burned as if on fire, the skin from hand to shoulder blistered and blackened. His shirt was sticky, blood and fluid weeping from the wounds. 

Myrcella and Tommen rushed to him, tried to help him stand but he was too weak, legs crumpling with the effort. Brienne lay unmoving where she had fallen, his heart caught in his throat until he saw the faint rise of her chest with each shallow breath. 

He barely registered the approach of the two septons, how they wrapped his arm and lifted him from the floor, hoisted him beneath the shoulders and carried him to the street. His children followed, sat on the ground beside him holding hands and whimpering as he waited. The two men returned a few moments later, carrying Brienne between them. He smiled, finding strange pleasure in the work it took to carry her long, muscled form. _She is magnificent._

One man knelt beside him, speaking calmly and slowly, looking intently into his eyes. “You must take your family, move them as far away from the Sept as possible. We will light the wildfire.” Jaime stared at the man, surely he misunderstood.

“Wildfire? Why…” 

The septon smiled sadly, resting his hand on Jaime’s shoulder. “The King is dead, the Queen, the Prince. Hundreds of innocent lives taken. This is the only way to protect your secret.” He nodded in the direction of Brienne, taking on a look of reverence. “To protect _her _secret. We owe her that.”

“You will die.” Jaime grabbed the man’s arm, trying to change his mind.

“We know.” He nodded, looked longingly at Brienne before returning to the Sept, his brother silently trailing behind. 

The children grabbed one of Brienne’s arms, Jaime struggled to his feet and hoisted the other one, together they managed to half lift, half drag her back toward the Keep. They had travelled several streets, just approaching the shadow of the outer wall, when the ground shook, sky lighting up with a green glow.

The Sept was burning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many people to thank. Thank you to Ro for the Aerys suggestion, of course he was evil, it worked so well. Thank you to Meriwyn for suggesting that Brienne completely disappear into the power of the Warrior, such a good visual. Thank you to Sari for pointing out that I needed to tease out Brienne from the Warrior, that made all the difference. Thank you to Jailynn and her beta Maryline who both were so helpful this chapter, and so supportive in general. And thank you to Madelyn for her generous help and support.
> 
> This fandom is filled with nice people. If you enjoy a story leave a comment, you may end up with a new writer friend. As always I live for feedback, really, tell me. Find me on Tumblr @ilikeblue.--T


	15. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What would you like your legacy to be?” 
> 
> He released her hand, leaned on the edge of the desk as he looked out the window, his features stern once more. “I would have a grandson, a Lannister, to claim the Rock. I would see my other grandson rule Westeros, a long and prosperous reign.” There was resignation in his voice, longing for something already lost. 
> 
> Brienne shook her head, that was not the question she intended. “No, my Lord, I mean…what do you want the name Lannister to stand for? When people hear it, what would you have them think?” He stared at her as if he had never entertained the thought, the old lion still unconcerned with the opinion of sheep. “I would like to propose an alliance between you and I.” She was out of her depth, challenging a master to Cyvasse without all the pieces, but she had Jaime. Brienne hoped that would be enough.
> 
> “Oh really.” Returning to his seat he stared across the desk once again, humoring her. “And what exactly do you bring to this alliance Lady Brienne?”
> 
> <><><><><><>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the change in rating to "E". If this is not your cup of tea, skip the second scene, no major plot points will be lost.
> 
> <><><><><><>

Tywin Lannister stared at her across his massive wooden desk. On her best day Brienne was not what most would consider an attractive woman, but even she would concede that today her looks pushed at the bounds of absurd. She could not open her left eye for the swelling, purple blooming beneath it, and her bottom lip was split, a crust of blood in the corner. There was a small slice on the tip of her nose, not deep, but oozing noticeably. And just below the jawline an angry red streak like the cut of a whip wrapped around her neck, a tendril of Cersei’s wrath having grabbed hold, making her see stars. 

Neither of them raised the subject of her injuries or how she had acquired them. Doing so would would swing open the doors to frank honesty, and Brienne preferred to get in and get out, with as little truthful interaction as possible. Tywin Lannister terrified her.

The Lord Hand had been informed in detail of the events leading up to the burning of the Great Sept three nights previously. King Robert, in a sudden fit of righteousness, had taken his wife and eldest son to the altar of the _Warrior_ to pray for himself and his troops. Somehow a fire had started, likely a candle left smoldering in an unoccupied portion of the building. The flames spread quickly, igniting a cache of wildfire hidden beneath the building since the reign of Aerys. The High Septon and his assistant had perished trying to save the King, luckily they had time to rouse the other brothers from their slumber and allow them to escape the blaze. They searched the rubble as well as possible, some areas still burning with green flame, but it seemed that the King, along with Tywin’s daughter and grandson, had perished in the catastrophe. 

The explanation made perfect sense, and was utter horse shit. 

Tywin Lannister was no fool, he knew a lie when he heard one, but something he saw in Brienne’s face must have stopped his tongue. Perhaps it was the knowledge that she was responsible not only for the destruction, but also for ridding his family of an evil that had plagued them for decades. In silence he stared at the drop of blood balanced precariously on the tip of her freckled nose. 

“I understand that you would like to be released from the service of the Crown to return to Tarth?” His words were flat, unconcerned. Maybe this would be easier than she expected.

“My pledge of fealty was to His Grace alone.” She tried to wash the distain from her voice, having never met a being less graceful than Robert. “House Tarth remains, as always, loyal to the Crown, and by extension King Tommen. However, I am not pledged to his service any more or less than his other loyal subjects.” 

“I see.” He looked down at his hands folded on the table, contemplating his next words. “And what of my son, will he be accompanying you to Tarth?”

_Oh no._

Brienne jolted. This was not a conversation she intended to have now, perhaps ever, with Tywin Lannister of all people. “Ser Jaime is free to go where he pleases, Lord Hand.” Trying in vain to sound nonchalant, her voice rose in pitch, and she cursed her girlish weakness. “I am in no position to dictate where he goes, nor am I privy to all of his plans. Perhaps you should ask him.” Twisting her fingers in her lap, she forced a steadying breath. He had nothing to hold over her, only rumor and speculation. 

And then he smiled.

A faint upward curl at the corner of his mouth, so subtle as to be missed, but there just the same. Brienne was horrified. Tywin Lannister did not smile, and when he did it was the look of a predator having cornered its prey, toying with it before the kill. He was playing with his meal.

“I believe you are in exactly the right position to tell Ser Jaime where to go, and what to do.” His words were deliberate, delivered with quiet certainty. “You could probably tell him what to say and what to think…what clothes to wear and how to cut his hair. A man in love will listen to such things.”

She stopped breathing. The blush that had been threatening at the base of her neck started to rise, coloring her cheeks a vivid pink. Tywin stood, circled the desk to stand close beside her. Gently, almost lovingly, he pried loose the hand now gripping the arm of her chair, smoothing her fingers between his, turning her wrist to reveal the star shaped scar. With a reverence that was startling he slowly traced the outline. “They call you ‘Kingslayer’s whore’ but it could not be further from the truth. You are a maiden still, no matter the stories from the road.” There was an unexpected softness in the crinkles around his eyes, so like Jaime. 

“Are you a man of faith Lord Tywin?” He had the look of one who understood what she was, Brienne found that surprising.

“Pride and desperation are a dangerous mix, Lady Brienne. There was a time when I prayed to the gods, but that was before…” Loss weighed heavy on his features, and she wondered if he was thinking of Joanna or Cersei, perhaps both. “What does a woman with your gift _do_ with a man who loves her? Would the _Warrior _ approve of his chosen one taking a husband…bearing children?” There was no mocking in his tone, only curiosity and awe, it seemed ill suited to the man. 

Brienne opened her mouth to speak, closed it again. “I do not know.” She huffed the answer, her voice sounded petulant, matching her thoughts. “No one can tell me…no one knows. The chosen one has never been a woman before, there is no precedent. I had thought to remain chaste, but now…”

The blush deepened and she looked away, overwhelmed with embarrassment to be talking of such things, let alone with this man. They stayed like that for a long moment. Lord Tywin holding her hand, his finger resting lightly on her wrist, Brienne searching her heart for answers that she did not have. Finally she broke the silence.

“What would you like your legacy to be?” 

He released her hand, leaned on the edge of the desk as he looked out the window, his features stern once more. “I would have a grandson, a Lannister, to claim the Rock. I would see my other grandson rule Westeros, a long and prosperous reign.” There was resignation in his voice, longing for something already lost. 

Brienne shook her head, that was not the question she intended. “No, my Lord, I mean…what do you want the name Lannister to stand for? When people hear it, what would you have them think?” He stared at her as if he had never entertained the thought, the old lion still unconcerned with the opinion of sheep. “I would like to propose an alliance between you and I.” She was out of her depth, challenging a master to Cyvasse without all the pieces, but she had Jaime. Brienne hoped that would be enough.

“Oh really.” Returning to his seat he stared across the desk once again, humoring her. “And what exactly do you bring to this alliance Lady Brienne?”

“I will give you an heir.” 

Tywin’s lips twitched then pressed together, a flicker of want crossing his features, quickly smothered. “You cannot guarantee a child, as you said… there is no precedent.”

“Jaime will not take another. If there is a child, it will be mine.” Lifting her chin, her voice rose with certainty, this she knew, he was hers alone. “He will not press the matter, I will decide to try…or not.” She spoke the truth and Tywin knew it, a pregnancy was her risk to bear. 

“And what would you ask of me in return?” His eyes narrowed, always wary. 

“Tommen will accompany us to Tarth and squire for Ser Jaime…Myrcella will come too. You will rule in his stead as Lord Regent.” Brienne stilled, waiting for his refusal.

“Why?” He sounded genuinely perplexed, this was not the price he expected. 

“Because Tommen is a boy unprepared to be a king…because they both watched their mother turn into a monster and murder an entire sept full of people, including the man they called father.” His eyebrows raised at the mention of parentage. Perhaps he knew. “Selwyn Tarth is a good man. He will teach your grandson to be a great man…a great king. The children need to leave this city, escape this pit of vipers and grow up somewhere safe, where they are loved. Jaime loves them, and I love them. Please…” She should not be pleading in a negotiation, it was weak. Tywin fed on the weak.

“When did you and my son become a family?” His voice echoed in the quiet of his office.

“He protected me.” She shook her head, searching for the words to explain. “I was _always_ the protector. The first to fight, the last to surrender. When Robert threatened my virtue, _Jaime protected me._ Against his sister, his King…against the entire damn camp. He saved me from disgrace, and in return I freed him from Cersei. Love was a foregone conclusion.” 

“I loved like that once.” Tywin smiled again, a genuine smile that reached his eyes, she wondered when someone last saw it. “All the wretched things I did were for love, for legacy…despicable things, and my wife paid the price.” His gaze drifted as he spoke, seeking out the ghosts around him. Sighing, he extended a hand, waited for her to meet his grip before squeezing tightly. “My Lady, I entrust you with the wellbeing of my grandchildren. Teach them to be like you.”

Brienne sagged, releasing a pent up breath. “I will Lord Tywin, you have my word. We will raise them to be honorable and strong, you will be proud to call them yours.” Brienne started to stand, anxious to claim victory and make a hasty retreat, she paused. “And the matter of the Kingsguard?”

Tywin’s lip twisted, shifting the papers in front of him absently. “It is unfortunate that Ser Jaime suffered such extensive damage to his sword hand, I am afraid he will no longer be able to protect his King.” Brienne’s eyes widened, her protest cut off by a quick shake of the Lord Hand’s head. “House Lannister will make a generous donation, it should ease the burden of repairing the Sept.” He would buy Jaime’s release, an uncomfortable feeling settled in the pit of her stomach at the realization. _I lay with lions._ “You owe me a grandson…or two. I suggest you start now.” There was no jest in his tone, a deal was a deal. 

Brienne blushed furiously, knocking over a chair in her haste to flee. From behind her she heard Lord Tywin chuckle. 

_Oh gods Jaime, what have I done?_

**<><><><><><>**

There had been so much pain. Pain for weeks as Brienne wrapped his hand and arm in bandages soaked in salt water and a mixture of healing herbs she brought with her from Tarth. Pain as he lost the tip of his fifth finger, as the blackened and blistered skin peeled away with the wrappings leaving raw meat beneath. Pain as she lovingly coated the open sores with salve that she mixed with her own hands. 

Worse were the nightmares, poppy induced visions of Cersei and Joffrey, dark eyes staring, faces melting away in green fire. Joffrey would burble and gasp, the sound never quite leaving his ravaged throat, while Cersei would snarl and spit obscenities. Raging that he would never feel loved again, how such a powerful woman would not welcome a cripple with a twisted arm and a blackened soul into her bed.

Cersei was wrong. Every night Brienne would crawl between the furs and drape her long frame across him, her movements disproportionately graceful and gentle, never touching his injured side. She would press soothing circles into his back, run long fingers through tangles of sweat soaked hair, chase away his specters with “mine” and “safe” whispered against his fevered neck in the dark. Jaime woke from fitful sleep grasping for her, a rock in the current of hurt and heartache threatening to drag him under. 

Brienne provided hope as well as comfort, relating how she had arranged their travel to Tarth, that Tommen and Myrcella would accompany them, a family at last. When Jaime questioned why his father had agreed to let the children go, she clicked her tongue, saying that they “came to an understanding.” Jaime fretted over that statement for days, until she reassured him that nothing agreed upon was a burden. He should focus on healing, a process that was taking far too long in his opinion. 

Four moons had passed with nothing but pain. Once his skin quit weeping, and the raised red scars started to form, all the sensation came rushing back to his ravaged limb at once. He felt bare, each touch a reliving of the night Cersei’s cold flames had flayed him, unable to withstand any contact with his re-forged skin, no tunic, no covers. Every time Brienne rubbed some gods awful ointment on it he had to grit his teeth to stop the screams from roaring forth.

The sun was just beginning to rise, soft light filtering through the flimsy drapes at his window, when he felt Brienne shift. She slid her weight over him, and he bit the inside of his lip to keep from moaning as the solid mass of her settled against him, as she ran the tips of her graceful fingers along puffy scar tissue from the back of his hand, up his wrist. So soft, so gentle, the whisper of a brush, and oh gods it felt _good._

Lovingly she traced his remade skin, the calluses on her palms catching in the jagged edges, sending shocks of pleasure up his arm. Jaime’s cock jerked, the groan that rumbled through him too loud and urgent to contain. 

“I thought you were…I’m sorry, I wanted to see how well it was healing. I did not mean to hurt…” She started to draw her hand back, rolling toward her side of the bed, when he grabbed her wrist, holding it to his ruined skin.

“Don’t stop Brienne…_please_ don’t stop.” His voice was shocking, leaden with desperation. He needed, gods he needed _something_ to feel good again, and this felt wonderful.

Brienne met his eyes, understanding passed between them, she gently began to stroke his sensitive skin once more, this time more deliberate in her movements. Watching his face she drew long patterns the length of his arm, alternating between the soft skin of her fingertips and the ridge of her nails, noting when his breath would hitch and his eyes would narrow with pleasure, as he gulped back whimpers when she glanced against a sensitive spot. “So good…Brienne so good.” He was writhing under her, shifting his pelvis back and forth to relieve the pressure building in his groin.

Brienne pressed her lips together in contemplation, pausing a moment before dipping her mouth to his scarred arm. “What…_oh…_” Jaime jolted at the contact, and she glanced up at him through half shut lids, deliberately parting her lips, letting her tongue slip out and lick along the puckered skin, blowing hot breath across the wetness left behind. The skin cooled and prickled, the sensation so raw and unexpected, Jaime’s back arched, a high-pitched whine bursting from his mouth, drowning in desire. 

Jaime could not silence his want, felt his manhood harden and poke insistently into Brienne’s firm stomach as she stretched over him. “Sorry wench…” He panted the words between little gulps, heavy with need. Nodding in the direction of his arousal his lips twisted into a lopsided smile. “It seems to like you.” 

Brienne’s eyes were blown, black circles flooding the watery blue, shimmering behind pale lashes. Her lip quirked as her stare drifted to the bulge in his breeches. “Maybe I would like it too.” Never looking away from his face she slid her hand to his cock, gripping it through the material as she once more lowered her lips to his scar. Circling his throbbing shaft with thumb and forefinger she began to move, each gentle clench of her hand matched with a tug of lips and tongue. 

“Brienne, oh Brienne, oh…” He called her name over and over as she stroked and clenched, suckled and nipped, until he teetered over the edge, covering her hand to still its motion. “I can’t…” Jaime twisted a sweaty curl around his finger before smoothing it from her face, brushing his thumb over her bottom lip, plump from rubbing against his rough skin. 

“I want you.” He was staring at her lips as she spoke, the words catching him off guard. His arousal lifted in response, her hand patting softly in reply. 

“Brienne, are you sure? I would do this properly, make you mine in the eyes of gods and men…in a sept with your father there to witness.” Her eyes were the sea in a storm, deep water churning with passion, as she pressed her lips to his. Jaime opened for her without thought, craving the taste as her tongue slipped inside to dance with his. Lifting her knee she straddled him, sliding forward until he pressed against the thin fabric covering the heat between her legs, tangling her hands in his hair. Jaime growled, the low rumble catching in her mouth, Brienne moaned in reply. He rolled against her soft warmth, tongues sliding in and out, matching the frantic movement of their hips.

He felt her moving, realized she was desperately tugging at the hem of her long sleep shirt, and he used his good hand to help her, breaking their kiss to yank it over her head. She tossed it aside leaving only her small clothes behind. He had seen her nude body twice before, always at a distance, sneaking and hiding, afraid of revealing the desire a mere glimpse of her naked skin had caused, that she would look upon him with distain if she knew how much he wanted her. Now, as he slid his hands along her scarred and taut abdomen, as he gripped her thick, corded thighs, only _now_ did he realize how inadequate his assessment had been. How incomprehensibly glorious she was astride him, full muscles rippling with each shift of her weight, alabaster skin lit from within. Jaime was lost in the pale expanse of her, entranced by the freckles clustered at the base of her long neck, the high, firm mounds spattered with tawny flecks. Tucking a hand into the curve of her breast he kneaded gently. Brienne bit her lip, closed her eyes, the pink tide that signaled her pleasure filling the space beneath her jaw, cheeks reddening with want. Jaime circled a rosy nipple with his thumb, pebbled skin hardening as she leaned into his touch. 

“So beautiful…so beautiful…” He knew she mistrusted his words, could not appreciate what he saw, that the rules applied to other women were inconsequential. She was a force of nature, like the squalls that ravaged Storm’s End or the tides nibbling endlessly at the edges of her precious Tarth, she tore through everything unjust in her path and wiped it clean. That she disgraced herself by allowing him to touch her at all was humbling, that she would open the sacred parts of herself left him shaken. “There are no women like you Brienne.” He prayed that the _Warrior_ would understand, that he would forgive her the folly of loving him.

She huffed at his words, stroking his jaw with one hand as the other joined his in caressing her breast. “I am already yours Jaime, in every way that counts. No septon is needed to bind my heart and soul to yours, that was done long ago, in a crowded tent pitched in a muddy clearing. And I am _tired_ of being told who I am, what I am. I was born with a body made for fighting, the _Warrior_ claimed me as a child, no _warning_, never _asking_. When I was charged to leave my family and chase after the drunkard Robert in the frozen north I did it without hesitation, knowing that I would likely never return. _This…you…_are the only thing that I have ever wanted for myself, and I am so tired of waiting. Please Jaime…” Her pleading was his undoing. Why should she beg for his touch when he burned for her constantly? _Gods be damned, I will worship her instead._

Jaime reached up with his ravaged hand and stroked the flush of her cheek, fingers clenching at an odd angle. Sensation had returned to the ruined digits, but the new skin was thick and tight, fine movements eluded him. The maester said give it time, he would hold a sword again, but just now he longed for perfect use of both hands. “I have wanted to make love to you since our first fight, when you knocked the breath from my lungs and pushed me into the dirt, my weapon not the only thing I wanted to yield. I made light of it, bucked and pranced and played the fool, but the desire was real Brienne. It was always real.” 

She hummed in reply, using her fingers to coax his into pinching the pink nub harder, twisting it slightly, moaning and tightening her knees around his hips when he touched her just right. “You say you were born with a body made for fighting, let me show you what else it was made for.”

Jaime lunged forward and wrapped her in his arms, claiming her lips in a hard kiss as he rolled them both, Brienne offered no resistance as he pressed her into the mattress. “I am afraid I will not be at peak form my Lady.” He held up the scarred limb and looked at it with scorn. “It does not cooperate, and I am clumsy with my off hand.” 

She laughed, it was warm and honest and shook off his insecurities in one quick wave of joy. “Come now Ser, every swordsman worth his salt can fight with his weak hand. You have been lax in your training.” She clicked her tongue, without preamble moving her hands to untie the laces of his breeches. “I shall assist you this time, but once you are healed we shall double our efforts.” A grin broke her features, still frowning in concentration as she worked the ties. 

Awkwardly they wrestled off their clothes, naked as her name day Brienne sank with a sigh into the covers, opening her arms and scooping him in. Jaime expected the mulish expression that signaled her thinking too much. Instead her face softened, full lips parting in an easy smile. He crawled deeper into Brienne’s embrace, nuzzling at the spot behind her ear that made her wriggle, laughing as her toes curled against his feet. 

Jaime had been fucking Cersei for so long he could not remember innocence, both half grown children with too many needs and not enough conscience to have felt anything but relief in their coupling. He was the experienced one, the one to show Brienne how pleasure works, how bodies were meant to mesh together in a way that transcended singularity, the bliss of surrendering yourself to another. Instead he was lost, completely unprepared for how open and exposed he felt now that the moment had come.

“Brienne I don’t know how to do this.” He tried to pull away but she would not let him, holding his gaze and waiting for him to explain. “I have only been with Cersei…it will be too quick, or too rough. We were so young, I can’t remember bedding a maiden, only twisted, dirty things committed in the name of love. Gods, even my fucking hand is ruined, I will not please you.” Jaime was rambling, voice rising in pitch as all his worries rushed forward at once.

Taking his hands in hers she kissed both palms, placing them flush on her cheeks before covering them with her own. “We will learn this together my love.” Her smile was wide and soft, sapphire eyes narrowing against unshed tears, Jaime felt himself falling and let go.

He expected some resistance from Brienne, some wail of protest or twisting of her features with hurt, a jab to his heart for tearing away something as precious as her purity. Instead their fingers fumbled over each other urgently, Brienne chuckling low in her throat at their shared clumsiness, entwined hands stroking the folds covering her entrance, dipping hesitantly into her wet warmth. Brienne gasped, rocking into the press of their joined fingers as they slipped deeper inside her, showing him by touch exactly how to curl his hand, finding the place that made her hips jerk, a cry of pleasure exploding from her lips as he dug his fingertips into the slick wall. Her need built, the muscles around his hand squeezing and releasing as together they set a rhythm, the thrust of fingers matching the roll of her hips. Jaime was mesmerized, watching her eyes become glassy and unfocused, her lips fall open as she grunted with each slow push, the desperate sounds collecting at the base of his spine. Unable to silence his own want, he ground his thick arousal against her thigh, mimicking the motion of their still joined hands. 

Brienne gave herself so easily, so unashamed and unburdened, the quiet of her surrender shocking and beautiful. She was trembling and whimpering as they moved as one, sliding wet fingers around his hard shaft, stroking it once, twice, before pressing it to her entrance. The heat of her called to him, and his cock twitched expectantly in their hands, Brienne huffed with amusement as he showered her jaw with sloppy kisses. He sensed how ready she was for him, how natural and right it felt to fill her completely with one lingering thrust, no pain, no hesitation or regret. “Fuck, oh _fuck_ Brienne…so good, so fucking good.” She was was hot and tight around him, and Jaime struggled to still his movements, giving her time to stretch and shift, molding around him as if they had always been lovers, as if she were made for him. Brienne sighed with contentment, bending her knees to cradle his thighs as he wiggled deeper into the curve of her hips.

“Finally whole.” She whispered the words against his neck and Jaime shivered in reply, too undone to speak.

“Mine…you’re mine…” A dam burst inside Jaime, the urge to possess every drop of her washed over him white hot and demanding. He clutched at her shoulders with his scarred arm and brought their linked hands to his lips, lapping at them with his tongue before sucking the length of their twined fingers into his mouth, desperate to taste her, growling in relief. _My woman, my mate._ The flavor of her filling his senses.

Brienne was staring at his lips, squirming restlessly as he rolled the taste of her on his tongue. “Let me…I want to know…” She pulled his mouth to hers, diving into the wet depths and tasting herself there. A rumble of satisfaction echoed in her throat, the vibration of it shaking his chest, and Jaime swelled with want inside her. She gasped at the press of flesh against her tight walls. “I can feel you filling me…oh…gods.” Brienne’s voice trembled, the absoluteness of their connection shocking, his body an extension of her own, his desire pulsing through her veins.

Jaime cursed his foolish cock, captured so easily in his youth, his own innocence wasted. _She should be my first, my last._ He longed to close his eyes to the memory of his sister tainting everything pure to follow. 

Brienne sensed the drift of his emotions, cupping his cheek she beckoned, anchoring him in the fragile press of her fingers. “Jaime…Jaime look at me.” Fire flickered in the midnight depths. She was starlight, a creature between earth and sky, and Jaime felt the presence of the _Warrior_, in the luminance of her skin, in the growing heat of her touch, want spurring the blood of the chosen one to flame. “Cersei is not in this bed.” There was command in her voice now, her power seeping into him, branding him. “Do you forget the claiming? You were reborn that day, a mate fit for a warrior. _My mate._” Her skin was burning now, the blue of her eyes replaced with a golden glow, driving out the shadow of his past sins.

“I remember. I chose you…I am yours.” In an instant he felt light, laughter threatening in the back of his throat as joy replaced remorse. Slowly he began moving inside her, filling her with thick strokes, pulling back leisurely as she whined with need. Brienne smiled, pleasure coiling in her limbs, stretching her legs and arching her back with each prolonged grasp of her cunt. It was exquisite torture, the slide of sweat slicked bodies, the snap of his hips as he buried himself in her. Jaime squinted, fighting the urge to close his eyes, to surrender, to press his face into the crook of her neck and pound into her mindlessly until they thrashed with release. Instead he watched, savoring every twitch of her lips as he brushed against her just so, inhaling every sigh, every gasp as their bodies fell into alignment and rolled as one. 

Jaime was utterly unprepared for the onslaught of emotions, making love to Brienne a different beast altogether from what he had known. Quick fucks in the dead of night, hitched skirts and rabid pounding of flesh. Unaccustomed to the bliss of lazily worshiping his woman in the daylight, with each wave of pleasure he thanked her for the gift of her body. “Brienne so wet, so tight, gods so good…you feel so good. Never like this, _never, never_…”

Brienne shifted beneath him, her tenuous control slipping she whined, sucking and biting the skin of his shoulder. “Please…please Jaime.” She was breaking apart, her surrender measured in little gasps, begging him between thrusts. “Fuck…oh please…more…gods more.” Gripping his hips, she tilted the angle of her pelvis, and Jaime plunged deep into her, inching further with each press. Brienne wailed, grinding against him at the finish of every stroke, and _oh gods_ he was lost. Shivers of pleasure tickled his thighs, release tugging at the base of his arousal, she squeezed him until he ached, her cunt clenching with each roll of their bodies. Jaime rammed against the core of her, Brienne crying “oh” and “yes” and “so deep” as he beat a steady rhythm at her center, she bit her lip bloody to keep from screaming. 

With each slap of their bodies Brienne’s eyes glowed more golden, her skin hot beneath his hands. Hitching a knee around his hip, she dug her heel into his thigh, using the other leg to lever against him she stiffened and keened, shaking wildly. Jaime felt his peak approaching, the pressure building beneath his cock, the heavy feeling in his gut as he strained toward completion, his thrusts increasingly fast and frantic. _So close, so close._ Beyond speaking, he reached between their bodies to where she stretched tight around him, pressing his fingers into the sensitive flesh at the apex of her opening, rubbing in tight circles until Brienne screamed his name, surrendering at last. She broke apart in his arms, body convulsing as wave after wave of relief crashed through her.

She was magnificent, head thrown back, mouth wide with wonder as passion claimed her. Jaime was close, so close, thrusting once, again, his whole body tense as he teetered on the brink. _I should stop, spill on her thigh, her belly._ With a pained groan he halted his press and pulled back, Brienne whined and trembled as he slipped toward her opening, grabbing his waist to hold him in place.

“Don’t stop.” Her eyes bore into his, voice thick with need and embarrassment. 

Jaime frowned at her words until understanding dawned. “Oh gods, I _want_ to…I didn’t think you would risk…yes, oh _fuck _Brienne…_yes!_” Jaime plunged back into her heat, grabbing her knees and lifting them off the bed, he slammed against her core. Again, again, again, the bed shifted, banging the wall with the ferocity of his thrusts. Jaime barked with laughter at the sound. He would take her hard, bury his seed so deep the _Warrior_ himself could not stop it taking root. Brienne cried out with each roll of his hips, beyond caring, and Jaime was certain every person in the White Tower knew exactly what they were doing. He could give a damn. She was his woman, he would claim her for the entire keep to hear. He came with a growl, yanking at her thighs and sinking deep into her warmth as he poured into her, limbs jerking wildly from the sparks of his release. 

Jaime shook as Brienne shattered silently beneath him, shivering and drawing him deeper, his climax pushing her over the edge once more. “I felt you…oh gods, oh gods.” It sounded like a prayer, whispered against the pounding of his pulse.

Completely spent, Jaime collapsed, his head landing heavy on her bosom. Brienne laughed, rumpled his hair and kissed his forehead as he panted into her sweat soaked skin. “We should have done that sooner.” She smiled against his hair, and he puffed in reply. “Although, there was the whole appeasing the _Warrior_ so that I could vanquish your sister standing in the way.” Jaime’s breath caught in his throat, and he waited for the pang of pain that accompanied talk of his sister’s death, but none came. Only contentment, only peace. 

“Are you still the chosen one?” Jaime lowered his voice, afraid of hearing the answer. Brienne closed her eyes, her face falling slack as if searching somewhere far off, then grinned. 

“I believe so, at least…I do not feel changed. _He_ is still there.” She sighed, twirling a golden curl between her fingers. “Perhaps the _Warrior_ likes you.”

“Perhaps.” _Or perhaps the Mother put in a good word._ The thought made him smile.

Brienne tossed the covers over his naked backside, then wrapped her arms tightly around his shoulders. Jaime tucked a leg under her knee before moving his head to rest beside her on the pillow. He searched for her hand, twining his fingers with hers. 

“The maids will find us.” He yawned, closing his eyes.

“I know.” Her voice was weak, fatigue claiming her.

“And you are a mess.” He snorted, having seen the maiden’s blood staining her thighs, smeared on the linens. 

“Bathe me later.” Even half asleep there was command in her voice. Jaime grinned.

“Yes, my love.” A bath sounded wonderful.

**<><><><><><>**

The crash of the waves was like a lullaby she had forgotten, the rumble and boom soothing in a way that Brienne felt rather than heard. Rumble. Boom. Rumble. Boom. Steady as the passing of time. The wind twisted in her hair, sticky with salt, as gulls circled and cried. 

_Tarth. I am on Tarth._

Opening her eyes, she stared at the birds soaring overhead, angled white and grey outlines stark against the brilliant blue sky. This was their meadow overlooking the sea, where she and Galladon would lie flat in the high grass and hide from the responsibilities of training and studying, from the searching eyes of their Septa or their father. The day she was chosen Brienne ran to this spot to cry alone, mourning the life she had lost.

Breathing deeply, she soaked up the briny smell, grinning as blades of grass tickled over the tops of her thighs, high enough to conceal even her giant frame. _I miss this._

It was only then that she noticed rustling in the grass nearby, a sudden tug at her hair forcing her to turn. 

_And oh. A lion. On Tarth._

A cub actually, massive paws kneading at the ground as it chewed on her hair in an imitation of nursing, big green eyes staring intently into hers, its golden fur blinding in the sunlight. It was beautiful, the broad muzzle inches from her face, and Brienne could not stop herself closing the distance, nuzzling the soft leather of its nose, long whiskers prickling against her cheeks. The lion grumbled, a sound like a purr, as it stretched its haunches and mimicked her movements, rubbing its ears against her chin. It smelled of leather, and campfires, and steel. It smelled like Jaime.

“It’s yours if you want it.” Brienne bolted upright searching for the source of the chiming voice, carried over the groan of the sea. Seated in the grass a few feet from her was a woman, red velvet skirts spread about her in a circle, head high as the wind lifted her gilded curls. She smiled, and it was glorious, the sunlight turning her eyes to emeralds. “His brother too.” She nodded at Brienne’s feet, where a second cub sat, pulling at her undone boot laces. This one looked more silver than gold, its eyes a reflection of the water below. 

Her heart skipped a beat. “I want them.” She did, they were hers. Shaking her head, Brienne tried to make sense of the scene around her, the only part ringing true was how much she wanted them, that to lose them would be giving away a bit of her soul. 

“Of course you do little lioness.” Brienne huffed, never once having been called _little_ anything, but something about the delicate woman made her feel tiny in comparison. “My son has done well.” Holding out graceful fingers, the silver cub ran to her, plopping into the folds of her dress, promptly rolling on its back. 

Brienne’s hands trembled. _Her son._

“_Mother!_” She scrambled to her knees, head bending to touch the the woman’s hem, the teachings of her septon flashed in her thoughts.

“Come now child…no need for that.” She stroked her lowered head, cupped her chin. “You never lost faith, never abandoned his honor…despite numerous attempts to convince you otherwise. He is so difficult sometimes…arrogant, annoying…” The _Mother_ smiled wistfully, absentmindedly twisting a pinch of Brienne’s hair. “Jaime is lucky you love him so, but I did design you for that purpose.”

Brienne frowned, she had accepted this was a dream, but only a truly daft person would misunderstand their own imagination. “_Mother_ I am confused…am I not a daughter of the _Warrior?_” Her small voice carried away by the salty breeze.

The goddess smiled and the tides shifted in her eyes, sapphire waters flowing in, green receding. A memory looked back at Brienne, as her vision blurred with tears. _My mother._

“Jaime was a blessing for Joanna Lannister, a boon for her faith, a source of joy to ease the suffering brought about by her husband’s folly. He carries a bit of my power, enough to survive a life with Cersei.” Sadness crossed her features, and Brienne wondered if she mourned the soul of every lost child. “You were my gift for Jaime.” Her face broke into a grin, staring at Brienne as if she were a treasure. 

“I still don’t understand, the _Warrior_ claimed me, I am his…” The goddess started shaking her head, and Brienne feared she had offended her somehow.

“No, no…I _made_ you Brienne Tarth. Strong, honorable, stubborn, noble, kind, forgiving, good…all the traits that called to Jaime, but which he often lacked. You were his beacon in the darkness, leading him back to me. The _Warrior_ recognized your power, took you for himself, but you were _mine_ first.” The _Mother _ waited, watching as Brienne turned her words over in her head, following them to the logical conclusion. 

“I can carry his children?” The question suddenly seemed very important, a want gnawing in her gut. “You will protect them too?” She held her breath, silently praying she had understood the subtext of their conversation.

Laughter burst from her lips, and she leaned down to kiss Brienne’s head. “Of course love, as many as you would like to bear. A pride of golden cubs with both our blessings, leaders of men.” Brienne fell forward into the _Mother’s_ lap, weak with relief. 

“Thank you…oh thank you.” The goddess wrapped her arms around her, pulling her close, whispering in her ear.

“Your mother sees the woman you have become, she mourns leaving you, but she is so proud.” The tears were flowing unbidden now, Brienne’s shoulders shook with the effort of her sobs. “Hurry home, your babies should be born on Tarth…”

**<><><><><><>**

Tywin Lannister stared out the tower window, watching the sun set over Blackwater Bay. He had lost sight of the fleet headed to Tarth carrying his son and grandchildren several hours prior, having mapped their path for as long as possible, noting the moment they crossed over the horizon. Still he watched, feeling the weight of the Seven Kingdoms settle firmly on his shoulders.

Of course, Lady Brienne was also on that ship, she being the reason his entire family was sailing away. Still he could not begrudge her his kin, not when there was such love behind the leaving. She would protect them, he was sure of it. Brienne Tarth was an intimidating young woman, and he was not easily intimidated.

He held the scrap of paper in his hand, the message inside so simple.

** _Lord Tywin,_ **

**_Please arrange your schedule to visit Tarth nine moons hence._ **  
** _A Lannister always pays her debts._ **

Staring at the cobalt waves he pictured her eyes, noticeable even from a distance, they were striking when viewed up close, much more vivid than expected. As remarkable as the Lady herself. 

Perhaps my grandchild will have those eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I am officially mortified now. First full smut scene, please let me know what you think, how to make it better, quit while you're behind, etc. Comments (good or bad) are so appreciated. Really, tell me something, anything. 
> 
> We are almost done, one fluffy epilogue to go. Thanks to everyone who read this. 
> 
> Thank you to Madelyn for editing and supporting me in general. Thanks to Ro, Jailynn, Sari, and Meriwyn for reading and being such good friends. You all were so patient with me these last few days while I had a small nervous breakdown about posting this.


	16. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The raven arrived two days later.
> 
> **  
_Lord Selwyn,_  
****  
_As we are to be family, I would like to extend my favor. Anything you or my grandchildren need, you have but to ask. The wealth and power of the crown is at your disposal. I shall plan a visit when the time has come. I am anxious to meet you, we have much to discuss._  
**  
**  
_With Warmest Regard,  
Tywin Lannister  
Lord Regent and Protector of the Realm_**
> 
> _Family? Lannisters. Lions._
> 
> _Seven hells Brienne, what have you done?_
> 
>   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was intended to be the last chapter, but my thoughts took a detour. Consider this an interlude, the trials of Selwyn, with the rest of the story complete and to be posted within a few days.

The pain was a living thing. So rich and real as to have a taste, a smell. Blue fire filling his veins, stretching until he was sure the cracks were visible, that he must glow from the heat of it unthreading his seams, bursting loose at wrists and feet, no relief in the release, rather a circuit completed. The agony spiraling through him, out and back in, around and around. Pain, and pain, and pain.

Cutting through his misery the voice of the _Warrior. “You are claimed, you are mine. Hold on Selwyn, hold on.”_

So he swallowed, squirmed and fidgeted the pain into a small corner of his body, his existence, allowing it to bubble out as righteous flame when called. It stalked him, a caged animal, the snarling threat of consumption always present. His life forfeit, he was owned.

Still there were blessings to be found, even in the grip of the _Warrior_. The gods saw fit to send him Merletta, his shining sea, who gifted him two beautiful children. They were his life, Letta and his babes, and he blamed himself for wanting too much—more of her—more of them. In his greed he lost her, the _Stranger_ claiming his wife and newborn daughters on the same day. He cried out to her from his dreams, wet and shaking, until he remembered. _Galladon…Brienne…Galladon and Brienne._ Their names like a prayer, a bit of her light safe in his grasp.

Until the rot found its way into his home, and Galladon stood as he knew he would, tall and brave in the face of death, so like his mother. Selwyn had no soul to spare, what he once owned given to the _Warrior_ or dead with his woman, and he prayed that the gods would take him instead.

And then there was Brienne, his baby girl, his joy, raging into the room like the _Warrior_ himself. A torrent of fire and fury as she looked deep into the eyes of darkness and growled, and smiled, and _burned._

_Oh gods…no…not her…not Brienne. Please…no…no, no, no…Warrior…no…_

In retrospect he should have known. From the way she grasped a blade, the shift of her feet, the surety of her stance. He could not remember his daughter without a weapon. She was pitifully awkward, near mute with insecurity most of the time, yet hand her a sword and she was magnificent. _Unnatural. Inhuman._

Selwyn pictured Letta, with her hair of silver silk and eyes like ripples in the shallows. Descended from the mountain mist like something conjured, head cocked high, long and lean and nearly as tall as he. Brienne was hers more than his, and he imagined some magic of the first men, a slosh of dragon fire had spilt into the babe from her mother’s womb. Of course the _Warrior_ claimed her, Selwyn could hardly blame him, Brienne was incomparable.

Still he cried for her. For the life she would never lead, the pain that was her constant companion, the loss of choice and death of possibility. His baby walked with a god beneath her skin, she would find no peace.

And then the _Warrior _sent her away, one more chunk of his heart withered and dead in the process, a doe eyed boy with tales of redemption and fire her only protection. He had been sure as she boarded a ship bound for White Harbor that it was the last time he would see her, the last he would stroke her salt stiff hair, kiss her sun scorched cheeks.

** **

The dreams started two moons after her departure. Selwyn had never been burdened with visions before. The children of the _Warrior_ often had prophets and seers among their ranks, but he was not one. The first few times he ignored it, deemed the product of a father’s worry and too little sleep. _Never doubt the persistence of a god._ Every time his eyes drifted shut he was there, the scene more vivid with each revisiting, until it no longer felt like a dream at all, but a place he would go, something he could touch and feel, as real as he.

He was in the cave again, running his hands along the slick, wet walls as he sunk into its depths. The _pat-pat-pat_ of water on stone a familiar contrast to the frantic fluttering of his heart. Brienne was there, grunting and groaning as she slashed at the darkness, the air around him whipped and sizzled with each massive arc of her sword. He would glimpse her around a bend, the blue flame reflected like mercury against pale skin, lighting skittering across damp surfaces as she struck and blocked_—advance—retreat—_an endless dance. She looked so tired, bone weary and beaten, and Selwyn screamed her name, rushed to help_—she was gone._ Shifting around a corner, deeper and deeper into the black until he could no longer see her, no longer hear her. By the third or fourth vision he found himself running headlong into the pit, sick with longing, desperate for a few moments in her presence. _If she is fighting she is alive._ He willed his daughter to look toward him, find his eyes, feel his love. She never did.

Another moon passed, the dream changed. Brienne was still in the cave, still sweating and swearing and snarling against the nothingness that threatened to consume her, no longer alone. A beast circled, grumbling low as it paced beside her. Like a specter it haunted him, Selwyn knew it was close by the _click-clack_ of claws on stone and the wisp of hair against his fingertips. _Mane? Tail? _He could not tell. Once he swiped at it, drew his sword and hacked at the shadows, terrified it was sent to gobble up the leftover bits of his child once the _Void_ had its way. The beast _roared_, pebbles clattered to the floor and Selwyn’s teeth rattled with the force of it bouncing around the cavern. Brienne threw back her head and roared in unison, eyes seeking as she shook her head vehemently. “No father…_NO. _He is _mine_, let him be!” She dove back into the fray, and this time he saw the outline of massive paws as they swung in time with her, slashing at the darkness together.

** **

It had been ten moons since she left, even the torment of the cave had abandoned him. No visions, no raven, no word for so long that he knew his daughter was dead.

He dreamed of a war camp, all the tents abandoned save one, faint light flowing from a slit in the fabric. He entered in silence, heard two sets of lungs breathing in time, and in the dim he struggled to untangle the figures on the ground before him, a pile of long limbs, pale skin, golden hair. His baby was asleep on her side, knees curled, looking small and young to his weary eyes. Selwyn drank deeply the sight of her, hair longer than he remembered, thin and bruised, but he found the gentle rise and fall of her chest, and his vision watered at the notion that she was alive, safe. It was only then that he noticed the massive lion wrapped protectively around her, Brienne’s head resting between haunch and mane, hand fisted in it’s fur. A wide paw draped over her waist, sheathed claws pressing into her skin. Selwyn sucked in a breath at the sight, and Brienne’s eyes opened, blue as still water in the dark.

“Father?” She smiled sleepily, stretching and cording her fingers through the beast’s long hairs, the intimacy of the act unnerving as it sighed and settled beneath her, accustomed to her touch.

“Child…are you safe? What is this creature to you?” He took a step toward her, arms outstretched, willing her to him.

“He is mine.” An echo of the words she spoke in the cave, Brienne nuzzled its neck and sank further into the embrace. “The battle is over, the darkness scattered. Time to lick our wounds.” Her lips tipped in a lopsided smile, the lion huffed his approval, his daughter humming in reply.

Selwyn did not know the woman in front of him. Brienne was strong but timid, not playful, not coy. “Brienne you will come with me.” His booming voice too stern, her brows furrowed in reply. Then softer, “…please child, I miss you, Galladon misses you…”

She stood in one fluid motion, the cat gliding with her_—one body—one mind—_she wrapped her arms around Selwyn’s neck. Her beast mimicked the action, leaning close, its huge maw wetting his chest as it purred. “I have missed you both so much. Thank you for loving me, for teaching me to love. I can not wait for you to meet them.”

“Brienne sweetling, who am I to meet?” He stroked her hair, running hands over her shoulders and back, reaffirming the warm, real presence in his arms. The smell of her so familiar, salt and steel, mixed with a different, earthy sent. _His_ scent.

“My children.” She whispered the word against his ear, and he tried to pull back, to search for the jape in her face. Brienne held firm, words rushed with urgency. “Each of them precious, each rare, the future in their fragile grasp. I need you…” Leaning back she took his face in both hands and smiled. Selwyn had never seen his daughter at ease, completely comfortable in her own skin. Full lips parting over crooked teeth, freckled skin pulled and grooved from the effort, delight clouding her eyes. His heart melted.

“I will help you daughter, in any way I can. You have my promise.” She laughed then, lilting and foreign to his ears, rubbing her nose to his, the act so feline he found himself chucking. _Who is she?_

“Tarth is a beautiful place to raise a pride..would you agree?” Her eyes sparkled, so like his wife. His island had sheltered all manner of glorious creatures, including the one in his arms.

_Why not lions?_

Selwyn woke with a start, his grasp suddenly empty, the smell of Brienne lingered in the room.

** **

A letter arrived the next day.

> ** _Dear Father,_ **
> 
> ** _I hope this message finds you well. I miss you desperately, you can not imagine all the times I lay awake missing home, my thoughts filled with you and Galladon. So many nights I dreamed of you, walking on the beach, always calling my name. I am sorry for the grief my absence and lack of communication has no doubt brought you. Please believe me when I say my silence was a necessity, not a choice. _ **
> 
> ** _I have some troubling news. King Robert is dead, along with Her Majesty the Queen and Prince Joffrey, a tragic accident at the Sept of Baylor claiming their lives. Prince Tommen, though too young to rule, has been named King. His grandfather, Tywin Lannister, will serve as Lord Regent in his stead._ **
> 
> ** _If all goes to plan I will be boarding a ship within the moon. You will be pleased to know that Podrick is well, he has performed valiantly and is anxious to return with me to our island home._ **
> 
> ** _I have some news that may come as a shock, King Tommen will be accompanying me to Tarth, as will his sister and uncle. His Grace will squire for Ser Jaime Lannister as he learns to lead the Seven Kingdoms with strength and honor. I admit, this is my doing, as I assured Lord Lannister there is no better place to study the art of ruling graciously than in the presence of the Evenstar. You have always made me so proud. I am sure that, with your guidance, our King will become a fine man. _ **
> 
> ** _Tarth has the added appeal of being rather isolated and well protected, key points in such turbulent times. His Grace will be accompanied by four of his most trusted men. I would ask that you name four worthy warriors to complete his guard. _ **
> 
> ** _I am sorry for the inconvenience and disruption the King’s arrival will most certainly cause, just know that there was no better option. My life has changed drastically in the last year, we have much to discuss. Never doubt my love for you and Galladon. _ **
> 
> ** _Your Daughter,  
_**
> 
> **_Brienne_ **

Tarth? Brienne is bringing the royal family to Tarth? A chill ran through Selwyn.

_Lions. _

_Lannisters._

_What has Brienne done?_

** **

The raven arrived two days later.

> ** _Lord Selwyn,_ **
> 
> ** _As we are to be family, I would like to extend my favor. Anything you or my grandchildren need, you have but to ask. The wealth and power of the crown is at your disposal. I shall plan a visit when the time has come. I am anxious to meet you, we have much to discuss. _ **
> 
> ** _With Warmest Regard,  
_**
> 
> **_Tywin Lannister  
Lord Regent and Protector of the Realm_ **

_Family? _

_Lannisters. _

_Lions._

_Seven hells Brienne, what have you done?_

** **

The beach stretched before him, golden, glistening, shifting warmth beneath his feet a balm for his soul. The song of the waves lulling him with its _crash—boom—crash—boom._ Endless. Infinite. Steady as a beating heart, the pulse of his home.

Selwyn walked in the surf, unsure how he came to be there, but lightened just the same. Rolling the wet cuffs of his breeches, tossing his sword in the sand, he watched the imprint of his steps soften and fade with the water’s retreat. Walking without purpose, without thought, until he saw a figure in the distance.

She sat high on the dunes, far from the water’s edge, silver hair lifted behind her, caught on an inland breeze. Fair and long, feet curled beneath as two babes toddled about her knees.

_Letta._

_Oh gods._

_Letta and my twins._

He broke into a run, long legs tumbling and twisting in the loose footing. Selwyn crashed into her lap, scooping a child with each arm, crushing them to his chest. “My babes, my babes…” He kissed each eye, each nose, the pink of their cheeks, the crowns of gilded heads. Sand and spit caught in his beard, lips brushing frantically against sun warmed skin. “My beautiful girls. Letta…my love…they are so beautiful.” He looked to the face of his woman, his wife, found a stranger in the set of her mouth, the lilt of her chin.

The air crackled around him, skin prickling as she fingered his greying hair. “Selwyn…love. I have been waiting, we have much to discuss.” Her eyes were cloudless skies, bluebells swaying in the breeze, but in their depths a storm brewed. Lightning and brushfire, power without end.

_“Mother!_” He gasped the word, lowering his face to her skirts as the children scurried to her lap. Selwyn spent half a lifetime bound to a god, but never had one appeared to him so blatantly. He could feel the power rippling off her, waves of heat in the gathering dusk.

She laughed, a chirping deep in her throat, Selwyn’s gut clenched with familiar want, his body insisting it was Letta beneath him. If the goddess noticed, she did not mind, tugging at his ear until he lifted his face once more. “You are a faithful man. Faithful to the _Warrior._ Faithful to your wife.” She sighed, wiping the sand from his lips, soothing the bruises where he worked his teeth with worry. “She does this too…chews her poor lip to shreds when nervous, or afraid. It’s better now, he stops her…with a touch…a kiss.”

“Brienne?” Selwyn frowned, thinking of the woman in his dreams, different from the girl he knew. “What do you know of my daughter?” His voice too harsh, the fear he held at bay unravelling at last.

“_Our_ daughter has saved the capital, forced the _Void_ into shadow, gifted us time to plan for his next attack. She was _mine_ before you knew her Selwyn Tarth, do not claim her as yours alone, even the _Warrior_ is not so bold. _Chosen One_ indeed…_stolen_ perhaps.” She harrumphed, and he found himself grinning at her consternation. She was charming.

He moved to sit beside her, watching the waves in silence as the sky turned red. One of the babes slid from her lap, tangling small fists in his ties as Selwyn absently stroked its back. Grabbing his fingers it pulled to a stand, tall and strong for a child so young. _Golden lashes, full lips, eyes like a lion._ Selwyn’s breath caught, “oh…oh you’re…”

The _Mother_ was staring, lips pulled tight to keep from smiling, a silvery child with eyes like the tide, freckled and fair, cradled to her breast.

“_Hers?_” He choked on the word, a wave of pain and longing chasing the thought that his daughter might be a mother. It was something they never discussed, so removed from her reality as to seem foolish to consider. “_How?_” The idea eluded him.

She did laugh then, a rich, rolling sound that made the baby in her lap start and squeal. “How do _you_ think she became a mother?” Selwyn gritted his teeth, she nudged him with her shoulder, and in his annoyance he judged the action very un-god like. “Do not be so angry Selwyn, she could hardly help loving him. My lion is perfect for her.”

_Lions. _

_Lannisters._

_Seven bloody hells._

“_Kingslayer!_” He roared the name, the child in his lap tumbling to the sand with a frightened wail. “Oathbreaker…sister..” She threw a hand over his mouth, cutting off the thought.

“Selwyn…the children!” Eyes widened in outrage.

“The babes do not know _that_ word, but I surely do! Of all the stupid choices…why would she pick such a man?” He shook his head, grumbling soothing noises to the crying babe as he pressed it against his chest, bouncing it softly. The _Mother_ grinned at the sight.

“Jaime Lannister is not what he seems. _My _light shines in him, blindingly bright, he holds the capacity for wondrous things. Your daughter sees it, feels it in her soul…the light calls to her.” Selwyn huffed, kicked at the sand in frustration. The goddess slid her hand to his, squeezed gently. “Selwyn…she claimed him for the _Warrior…_”

“How could she?” He sighed, conceding the battle before it started.

“He fought the _Void_…killed his sister…for _her._” Threading her fingers through his, she leaned into his thick shoulder. “Promise me you will give him a chance.” She nudged him with an elbow.

“You are not much of a goddess.” He grinned down at her, impishly kissing the top of her head before ducking away.

“I am what you expect me to be. For you, the perfect mother was Letta…so I am her. In love with all your foolishness.”

“I miss her.” The waves caught his words, washing them away.

“She misses you…waits for you. There is love after this life Selwyn.” He felt her fading from his grasp, squeezed tighter as her fingers slipped through his like sand. “Wake up my love…our daughter needs you.”

** **

Selwyn received the news two hours hence, the royal fleet had reached Tarth waters. The sentinel positioned on the tiny island at the harbor entrance set the signal fire as instructed, _red smoke for lions,_ it rose in a long, curling wisp. Four unmarked carracks in loose formation, the lead one hoisting a single flag as it entered his waters, a silver star in a sea of cobalt. Brienne was on that ship.

He stood at the dock, rigidly scanning the horizon, until her ship was in view and he could _finally_ release the breath he had been holding for almost a year. Selwyn was uncertain of the woman returning to him. If the visions held true, his daughter had changed so much, made choices that he could not fathom, but also accomplished more than seemed possible. Still…the _Kingslayer?_ Seven hells.

“Give him a chance indeed.” He grumbled his disgust aloud, Galladon shifted uncomfortably at his side.

“I beg your pardon?” His big blue eyes were searching, nerves eating at his son as he twisted the hilt of his sword, adjusting his black cloak so it hung just so. Selwyn chose him to lead the proxy Kingsguard, and he struck an imposing figure in his golden stag armor. Having grown over the last year he was now a finger breadth taller than his daughter, with the same silvery hair and smattering of freckles.

“Nothing…nothing. Just the ramblings of an old man.” He clapped his son on the back, watching the grin spread across his eager face. “Are you ready to meet a King?”

“I am…it’s just.” Galladon frowned at the nearing ships, biting his lip in a mannerism so familiar Selwyn almost laughed. “Why do you think His Grace has decided to stay on Tarth?” He shook his head, struggling to make the pieces fall in place. “Father you _know_ I love this island…its people…but we live on a small rock of no particular political or geographic importance…it does not make sense.”

Selwyn sighed, he would find out soon enough. “I believe your sister has formed an attachment with Ser Jaime, and by extension his niece and nephew. It was her influence that brought the royal family here.”

Galladon chuckled, bumped his shoulder affectionately. “_Attachment?_ Really father you say the word as if she’s…” Try as he might, Selwyn could not conceal his simmering fury, stomach churning as he imagined _him_ touching his daughter. His son blanched, mouth opening and closing like a fish on land, as he turned to watch the ropes lashed, the gangplank lowered. Brienne was on deck, bright as a star with the midday sun glinting off her armor, she paced the rail and threw her arm back and forth in greeting. Selwyn could just make out her smile, the excitement palpable. “You can’t possibly think that she…that _they…_” Galladon swallowed, gulped, unable to finish the thought.

“I am almost certain they _have._” Selwyn growled the last, clenching his fist.

“The _Kingslayer?_” Galladon smiled, waved back.

“Yes.” Selwyn raised his arm in greeting.

“I’ll kill the fucker.” His son was still smiling, but the mirth had melted.

“Get in line.”

** **

Brienne could barely contain herself, it felt as if the last moon had passed with nothing but waiting. Waiting as the King was announced and Tywin named as Lord Regent. Waiting to gather Tommen’s trusted guard and secure their passage to Tarth. Waiting as their things were loaded on the ships that would carry her home. Waiting as the children said goodbye to their grandfather. Waiting for the winds to catch, pushing them across the Narrow Sea.

They had several cabins assigned to their party, but Tommen was lonely without Myrcella, and Pod anxious when separated from her. As the most social creature of the bunch, Jaime refused to be left out of the ruckus, so they ended up piled into one cabin at night. It was stuffy, and smelly, and often full of laughter. She was glad for the chance to learn the children better, Tommen and Podrick were fast friends, Myrcella started calling her aunt, but she missed Jaime. Missed their quiet mornings together, missed holding him in the dark.

Now she stood waiting one more time, making sure that the guard was in formation, that Tommen was well protected as he went ashore. The crowd of fishermen and sailors providing an easy cover for someone who would wish him harm. The Princess walked behind, flanked by the Kingsguard, Brienne following closely with Jaime at her side.

Brienne stared at her father and brother as she approached, her chest tightening with anticipation as she met their eyes. Selwyn looked uncertain, Galladon distant, as if she were an unknown quantity, a stranger on their sand. _Has it truly been so long?_ Unbidden she made a soft, rattling sound as she gasped for air, eager to run the few feet between them. Jaime heard the want, placed his hand softly on her lower back and whispered. “Go on…His Grace will understand.” Calling out to his children, “King Tommen, Princess Myrcella…a word please?” Both turned with open expressions, retreated the few steps to where he was standing as Brienne rushed forward, skirting the guard and throwing herself into the arms of her father and brother. Jaime nodded at the sight, and the children broke into matching grins. “Let us give Lady Brienne a moment with her family.”

“Gods I have missed you.” She kissed her father’s beard, fingers tangling at the nape of his neck as she buried her head in his shoulder, armor clanking as she awkwardly pressed closer. Selwyn hesitated a beat, wrapped his thick arms around her and squeezed, Brienne’s heels lifted as he hoisted her against him. Galladon completed the circle, placing his hands on her waist and kissing the top of her head. “I felt so lost without you.”

“Hush child…we are here now. Brienne…you made us so proud. What you accomplished…it’s remarkable.” His smile was like sunshine, warming her from the inside as Galladon gently stroked her hair. She turned to Jaime with tears in her lashes, held out a hand.

“I would have failed without Ser Jaime. He protected me when no one else would, at great risk to himself.” Jaime moved forward, threading his fingers with hers, Brienne slipped from her father’s embrace to stand beside him.

Selwyn’s gaze turned cold as it encompassed their interlocked hands, how Brienne leaned toward Jaime without knowing, his proximity held a gravity she could not fight. “And who protected _you_ from _him?_” Crisp and clipped, spoken so softly she thought she misunderstood, until he stepped into the lion’s path. “You presume too much _Ser._”

Jaime’s eye twitched, a snarl gathered at the base of his spine, poised to roll through his chest and explode in a fury of indignant ire. Brienne squeezed his hand, protesting his rebuttal. _This is important love, think before you growl._ He swallowed, breathed in deeply through his nose before releasing a huff of forced mirth. “My apologies Lord Selwyn. Your daughter and I became quite close during our travels together, and I feel comfortable around her. I meant no disrespect.” Jaime smiled, looking chagrined as he released her hand and eased away, creating a respectable distance between them.

Her father did not seem appeased, bushy brows meeting in a way that she had not seen in years. Not since the day she and Galladon fled from their septa, dared each other to swim to a sand bar far from shore. They made it—barely—both too tired to return, their father sailed across in darkness to rescue them. It was the most selfish and reckless thing she had ever done, and she wondered what he must be thinking to wear that expression now. “Just how close would that be?” He leaned in so that no one else could hear. “I _know_ what he is to you, Brienne. What I do not understand is _why_…why him?”

Her stomach flipped, the bile she had swallowed for much of the journey finally rising to the surface. Unthinking her hand strayed to her belly, the fledgling life sapping her resilience and throwing her off kilter, she grabbed Jaime’s arm to steady herself against a wave of vertigo. Selwyn’s eyes glinted like steel, flicking back and forth, following her movements. His lips pressed tight as he shook his head in disbelief.

_Kingslayer’s whore._

The name thundered in her head, the taunts of soldiers and courtiers alike churning her thoughts. Brienne had shoved the anger down. Quashed her honor and pretended not to mind the hushed snickers and sideways glances, having been found irredeemable for a crime confined to the misty expanse of dreams. And when she and Jaime decided to come together at last, it was no act of mindless passion, driven to uncontrollable deeds by their baser impulses. He was her mate, her faithful friend, her soul’s perfect match, their bond so much stronger than any silken cord could secure. She was not embarrassed by what they had done, carried not one drop of regret that his babes grew in her womb. Brienne lifted her shoulders, tilted her chin to meet her father’s glacier eyes, the _Warrior_ bubbling beneath her skin quick to burn, eager to do battle, his protection extending to the new life within her.

_It hurts._

Just as quickly the fire died, replaced by hollow regret. _This is my father, my first love._ Selwyn Tarth taught her by example to put others first_—her family—her brothers in arms—her god—_to never shy away from what was expected, what was needed. Now he was looking at her with the same expression as the presumptuous nobility in the capital, those who thought her naive and desperate, easily used, easily forgotten, a toy in the jaws of the golden lion. Why did he not understand this was her calling now? The pull just as strong, the outcome no less important. Her love for Jaime struck like a thunderbolt, changing sand to glass, she was left a new being in the aftermath. _One that he does not recognize._

She remembered another time, a different expression, the gut wrenching horror on his face as she was chosen. The look of a man who would sell his soul to change what was happening, the pain of watching her suffer. _He has suffered for moons…_

As one Jaime and her brother sprung into motion, sensing the tension her lion took a step forward, placing himself between father and daughter. Galladon cleared his throat, putting a hand on Brienne’s shoulder. “Sister, come introduce me properly to His Grace and the Princess. I should like to know them better as I will be spending much of my time with them.” They were protecting her, all of them _still_ protecting her.

Laying a hand on her father’s cheek, she sighed. “It has been less than a year…but a lifetime of change. I know you do not understand, could not possibly know the workings of my heart, but I ask you to trust me. I am still the girl you love.” He closed his eyes, placed his hand over hers, and when he looked again there was a new softness.

“I will try daughter…I promised to try.” He chucked at a memory she was not privy to, then turned to Jaime. “I believe I will talk with Lord Lannister for a moment, if he can spare the time.” Jaime nodded in acquiescence, and she felt a wave of pride at how easily he let her father’s displeasure wash over him. _You have come so far my love._ “Brienne, please see His Grace and Princess Myrcella safely to their new home.”

Reluctantly Brienne walked away, leaving Jaime and her father standing awkwardly close, a look of resignation on both their faces.

_Mother help him._

** **

“Walk with me Ser Jaime.” Selwyn did not wait for an answer, he simply strode away from the pier, down a cobbled path that skirted the water. Jaime glanced back at Brienne who gave him a sympathetic gaze but continued with her duties, introducing Tommen and Myrcella to Galladon and the other guards. Both of them accepting that this conversation was inevitable. The older man stopped at a bench overlooking the sea and took a seat in silence, Jaime followed.

They sat there for long minutes before Jaime was compelled to speak. “Lord Selwyn, I want to apologize for any dishonor that I have brought to…”

“Save it son.” The older man’s voice was booming, carrying easily over the crash of waves against the rocky shore. “If you were so concerned about honor you would have treated my daughter with respect. Thought before you had your way with her…you would have _married_ her.” His eye twitched with fury, a response he had never seen in Brienne. Although, in truth, he had never made her _this_ angry. “How much of the tales is true?” Selwyn did not elaborate, leaving Jaime to interpret his question. In the end he decided that Brienne’s father was a man with little patience for horse shit, and even less for insincerity.

“All of them I suppose.” Jaime shrugged, trying to avoid appearing nonchalant. If the man wanted full disclosure, he would have it. “I broke a sacred oath and killed the first king I served. Fucked my sister, thus making a mockery of the white cloak I wore and cuckolding my second king. I fathered three bastards, two of whom are now sequestered on your island…” Selwyn was flushing, and while Jaime found it delightful on Brienne, on this mountain of a man it appeared like a volcano glowing bright, the lava visible between the cracks just before exploding.

“You think this all a jest Kingslayer?” The roar had quieted into a low growl, no less threatening. Jaime shook his head vigorously.

“Not at all. I take the well being of my children very seriously. I know you take a risk allowing us to stay here, both from those who would attack the King out of spite and those who question Tommen’s validity. It is a deadly game we play Lord Selwyn…no time for jesting.”

“Just…” He bowed his shoulders, resting his arms on his knees. It seemed he had aged ten years since Jaime came ashore. “I do not understand _why_. Why has Brienne taken such a risk…put myself and her brother in danger? Why would she affiliate herself with a man such as you…_lay_ with such a man? I can not make sense of it.”

Jaime sighed, Lord Selwyn was asking the same questions he had asked himself repeatedly. In all his internal ramblings he had never found a satisfactory reason, it was unlikely he would come up with one now. Still, an answer was expected. “She loves me.” Selwyn huffed, staring at his boots and swinging his head from side to side, a weariness in the action that made Jaime’s heart ache. “I know that seems trite coming from my lips, but it is nonetheless true. More importantly she trusts me, respects me…” At that Selwyn jerked to attention, staring at Jaime and rolling his eyes. “I know…_gods_ do I know.” Jaime groaned, thinking of all the mistakes he had made, all the ways he had tossed the good graces of the people closest to him on the fires of hubris. “There is so little to base that respect on, and yet she feels it, unconditionally.”

“My daughter has always been a trusting soul. Quick to love, late to judge. Often leaving her heart open to hurt when others would have learned better, guarded themselves more closely.” He was staring at Jaime now, stormy eyes bearing down with the same intensity he had seen in Brienne. The look she bore in a fight. “Will you hurt her as well?”

“NO!” Jaime found himself yelling the answer, felt his thighs tighten with the urge to rise in challenge for suggesting such a thing. “I know you think I am without honor…irredeemable. When I look back on all my dark deeds it is like bending over the side of a boat, staring through deep water and trying to make out objects on the bottom. Shifting…stretched…everything distorted and misplaced. I _know_ that it was me, but I _feel_ like some one else.” Jaime’s eyes took on a glassy appearance, as if he were trying to find the person from before, to gaze upon him and somehow reconcile that man with the one he had become.

Selwyn was staring intently, searching Jaime’s face. “Do you consider yourself a changed man? Can someone really move so far from where they began in such a short period of time?” Another question Jaime had asked himself far too many times.

“Yes…a-at least I believe so…I hope so.” He paused, mulling over his next statement. “I know you are a man of devotion Lord Selwyn, but I never was. I gave little thought to the gods, did not worship as I should. I was faithless.” The confession sounded harsh on his lips, what he had seen in the last year having shown him the folly of his ways. “I believe now. I have looked a goddess in the face, let her into my soul. I have felt the actions of the gods through me, _changing_ me. I watched as the _Warrior_ possessed Brienne, turning her into something more than human.” He met Selwyn’s eyes, hoping his own conveyed the sincerity of his conviction. “The gods have shown me my place…and it is with Brienne. I will not question them again.”

Selwyn nodded, this was something he could understand. “They told you that your love was predestined?”

Jaime nodded. “I loved her before…their revelation only reaffirmed what I already knew.” He reached out, tentatively placing a hand on the older man’s shoulder. “I will do whatever it takes to be the man Brienne needs me to be…the man she deserves. She believes me honorable…so I am honorable. She believes me kind…then I am kind.” Jaime was pleading now, needing him to understand. “I know you have little faith in me, I have given you no reason to trust me. But please…trust my feelings for Brienne. They are the most honest…the truest thing in my life. I would take her to the sept now, claim her as my own. Lord Selwyn…I would die for your daughter.”

Selwyn smiled, the expression lacking warmth, but it was at least kind. “Dying for someone is easy. It’s much harder to live for someone. Are you willing to live for my daughter?”

“Yes.” Jaime answered without a doubt, living for Brienne sounded lovely.

“I hope so son…for her sake and yours.” With that he stood, smacked him on the shoulder and headed back toward the keep, leaving Jaime to trail behind his towering stride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many people to thank. Madelyn, Jailynn, and Ro are the best team of friends, supporters, critics, butt kickers, get back on point talkers out there. Thank you so much. Free therapy is so appreciated.
> 
> I LOVE comments. This rodeo is almost over folks, say hello please.


	17. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for a happy ending.

Brienne wondered how long it would take before someone came to find her. According to the maester, the babes could come any time now. The older man had patted her knee, remarking that she carried them as if she were born to the task. Jaime had hooted and grabbed her by the cheeks, crushing her lips in an embarrassingly enthusiastic kiss, only pulling back when Myrcella giggled.

The girl asked to be included in the examinations, using the excuse that she was interested in the healing arts. When the two women were alone, she confessed her desire to be there when her little brothers entered the world, to make sure they knew from the start how treasured they were. Brienne had stuttered and sniffled, pulling Myrcella close and whispering how good she was, how kind and loving. Leaving unsaid how she thanked the gods that the darkness spared her, how the child shone with the light of her father instead.

She was glad the babes were safe, big and strong inside her, but _gods_ she was ready to have them out now. Everything was difficult. Standing to watch Podrick and Tommen train for more than a few minutes at a time caused her legs to throb, her back aching and pulling under her own weight. She missed sparring with a physical pain, a tightening in her chest as she watched Jaime and Galladon work with the boys, staring with longing as the sweat gathered on their brows, their shirts slick and stuck to their chests. Both men laughing with pride whenever their students landed a glancing blow or blocked their advances.

She had retreated to _her meadow_ as her husband had taken to calling it. Lying flat on the soft earth, one of the few places she still found comfortable, she was caressed by the long grass brushing against her legs, tickling the top of her massive belly. Brienne watched the gulls circle, listened to the boom of the waves.

_I am happy. Desperately, deliriously happy._

The thought had scared her, for to be happy meant having something to lose. So she had fought to keep her happiness, struggled to pull together the loose ends of her life into one tapestry. It started with her father, with having the painful conversation about losing her maidenhead before marriage, of giving it to an unsavory man with a reputation for breaking oaths and incestuous love. _Kingslayer. Kinslayer._ Brienne swallowed and nodded, admitting Jaime’s flaws as easily as he had, not glossing over the fact that they were harboring a pretender to the throne, a bastard king. When her father paused and asked why, she left nothing unsaid.

Brienne told him of saving Bran, of the lost look in Jaime’s eyes as he realized the fate she had spared him from, the sin of killing an innocent boy a final mark on an already black soul. She told him of Cersei’s unrelenting darkness, how Jaime felt responsible for her evil, took it upon himself to hold it at bay with any means available—his body—his honor—until he forgot the reasons behind his actions, only remembering that he belonged to her. Brienne spoke of Robert, how in her innocence she did not imagine that prowess could produce lust, how Ser Jaime recognized his lecherous intentions and harbored her in his tent, convinced the camp that he had claimed her, protected her honor. It was during those days and nights together she heard his plea for release, his desire to be freed from the prison of his life. It was then she claimed him for the _Warrior_, breaking the ties with his twin and allowing him to become a man of his choosing.

_She loved him_—Without reservation, without fear, in full knowledge of what he had done and who he had been. Jaime was sarcastic, grating, egotistical, and often difficult to like. He was kind, devoted, passionate, and looked at her as if she owned the moon and stars.

_He loved her_—Not in spite of the woman she was, or ignoring what she looked like. He loved her _because_ of her strength, he worshiped her for the scars she bore and the steel in her blood. There was an alchemy in their mixing, the sum of their parts more than the individual ingredients, a magic in the combining of their souls that made them something more.

Her father nodded, held her hands in his. “I knew love like yours. Jaime looks at you the same way I looked at Letta…as if he cannot believe something so rare has gifted him their love. You are a good match.” They married the same night, with only their family present. All three of her newfound children rushing forward to embrace them as they kissed.

Her father had smiled through the ceremony, warmth never quite reaching his eyes, polite but distant. Brienne decided to give him time, that his acceptance of Jaime was enough, love for him and their children would eventually follow. It continued in that fashion for several moons, Selwyn holding back his heart, his fear for Brienne clouding his vision of her future. The presence of the _Warrior_ was strangely comforting, the heat in her veins a constant reminder of all Selwyn had endured, of the wounds that could not be seen. He would come around, eventually.

They were sitting together at suppertime, the end of a long productive day, Podrick and Tommen busy recounting how they had _almost_ beat Galladon in a two on one match. Her brother stood behind them, rolling his eyes at Myrcella, she clapped her hands over her mouth lest she give the jest away. Brienne smiled at all the love she had found.

She had felt the quickening before, a strange fluttering, the soft beat of wings. But this time it was stronger, the bird thrashed around inside its cage—_inside of her._ The _tap-tap-tapping_ of a branch against a window, growing more insistent. She gasped, her eyes losing focus as she struggled to locate the source of the tapping, to feel exactly where it started.

_There—right there—again—and again._

Selwyn was sitting next to her, and she grabbed his hand, pressed it hard against the firm lump that was repeatedly patting her innards. “Do you feel…father can you feel it…?”

She met his gaze, vision blurring with tears as his mouth fell open with a silent _“oh”_. The baby moved again, harder this time. He wrapped a hand around her shoulders, pulled her toward him until their foreheads touched, calling out to her husband. “Jaime…come here son. Feel your boy move.” And with that Jaime was crouching beside them, hand pressed next to her father’s, both men grinning and cooing to the wriggling lump beneath their fingers.

“He’s strong. Did you feel that?” Her father chuckled, Brienne’s head bounced with the force of it, but she held her ground, not wanting to break the spell of this moment.

“Like his grandfather.” Jaime clapped Selwyn on the back with his free hand, and their eyes met. There was warmth, there was love. Brienne sobbed at the sight.

That had been the breaking point, Selwyn and Jaime forming an unspoken alliance, united in their love and overwhelming concern for her and the babes. It had also been the last of her peace, both men playing mother hen, pecking her to death with questions of _“Should you be doing that?”_ and _“When did you rest…did you eat?”_ She felt like screaming, already big as a keep, she laid around like a fat cat in the sunshine most of the day.

So she snuck away, hiding in the meadow until inevitably someone came looking to make sure she was not in labor. Brienne heard a rustling behind her, turned to see her husband on all fours, stalking her through the high grass. The image so silly she started laughing, a loud guffaw that shook her belly and made her sides ache.

“Gods, you are a horrible lion. Any stag worth a damn would have run off long ago.” She held out a hand, he nuzzled it playfully before curling at her side.

“I’m much too old for quick, nimble prey. Give me a nice sized heifer any day.” She punched at him, producing a satisfying _“oof”_ as she struck a rib. “The cutest in the herd, white and speckled…” Brienne frowned, a wall of furrowed brows and puckered lips. Jaime leaned forward and bit at the bottom one, pulling it into a smile.

“It’s your fault.” Huffing and wriggling away as he squirmed to follow. “I agreed to carry cubs, not calves. Look at me Jaime…I’m _huge._” He managed to wrap an arm over her stomach, pulling her tight and stilling her retreat.

“I look at you every chance I get wife.” There was a growl in his voice now, the low grumble making her hairs stand on end and her belly tighten. “I would look at you now if you let me.” Brienne had taken to wearing loose gowns, finding no breeches that would meet over her growing bump. Besides, the way the fabric swished around her swollen calves was comforting, and the flow of air between her knees felt wonderful in the perpetual heat of pregnancy. Jaime took full advantage of her lack of laces, grabbing a handful of fabric and hiking it up, stroking his fingers across the taut skin beneath. Brienne groaned at the contact, shutting her eyes and allowing him free reign as he traced the boundaries of her abdomen, finding each lump and indentation, the forms beneath growing more distinct with each passing day. He laid his head against her, whispering words of love to his unborn children, trying to make out the jumble of parts as he ran moist lips over heated skin.

Jaime started talking to her stomach the minute his seed took root, long before there was anything of substance at the other end of the conversation. Brienne thought it odd at first, brushed him away with a giggle and a cuff of his ear. But she quickly realized how much it thrilled him to claim the life she carried. She thought of her lion standing guard over Cersei, watching Robert rub her growing belly with pride_—ignored— unwanted—_a fixture in the room as they cooed over what was rightfully his. So she decided he could touch her all he wanted, kiss and caress and hum little sounds of longing to the tiny beings inside. He would raise embarrassed eyes, looking for signs of her displeasure, of mockery. Seeing none his face would melt with adoration. She could not deny him this—why would she ever want to?

His hand slid higher, cupping a full breast, his thumb ghosting over the sensitive nipple. Brienne gasped. Lips trailing behind his hands, Jaime sucked the pebbled skin between his teeth and nipped gently. “We can’t…someone will see…” She moaned as he intensified the pressure, lapping his tongue over the tip until she tangled her fingers in his hair, body acting in defiance of her words as she arched against his mouth.

“It was my turn to find you, no one else will come looking.” He tugged at the flushed peak until she burrowed her face in his hair and whined with need. “Besides…it is well within my husbandly rights to make love to my wife in the sunshine. Let the gods look upon us and smile…Brienne you have earned happiness.” He rolled them both, nesting behind her as he ran strong fingers down her side, her hip, tickling the crease of her bottom before slipping between her thighs.

“_We_ have earned happiness Jaime…you just as much as I. Someday I will convince you of your worth.” His fingers tugged at the edge of her small clothes, finding their way to the heat beneath, the want they ignited burning away any other thoughts.

He took her slowly, bodies rocking together as the waves crashed below. Arms circling her hips, hands flush against her rounded stomach, Brienne draped her leg across his thigh as he gently thrust into her. The passion built quietly between them, a pull of the tide instead of a crash and roll, she surrendered just the same. When her body clenched he felt it, the stretched muscles beneath his palms squeezing firm around his babes as she called out his name. Her release shook through him, the connection overwhelming. Crying out he bit her neck, spilling deep within her.

They lie together long minutes, chests rising and falling as one, her hand atop his as it stroked circles over her abdomen. Brienne felt loose and limp, relaxed for the first time in days, the pressure finally easing from her back.

** **

Jaime felt the shift of the mattress, sensed the presence of someone over him before he opened his eyes. Brienne was sitting bolt upright, the light reflected off the sea twisting her pale features in alarm as she patted the sheets, lifting her hand to her face in the darkness. “Wet.” He heard her mumble the word. “Oh gods, it’s wet.”

He grabbed her hand, pulled it toward the light streaming in the window. _Wet—yes—but not with blood._ Not like his mother. Or hers. “I’ll get the maester…where do you want to be when…?” His hand was shaking, she wrapped her fingers around it, pulled it to her cheek.

“Right here love…in our room, the room I grew up in.” He moved to light candles on the bedside table, the sconces on the walls. Crawling back onto the bed, he pulled Brienne close, stared at the pink stain on the linens. “I will be fine Jaime…” She tipped his face to hers, kissed the corner of his mouth. “…as long as I have you by my side. I do not fear discomfort, and by sundown tomorrow we will hold our babes.” He nodded, worry making him mute. But he kissed her back, pouring his devotion into the soft brush of lips against hers.

Brienne’s ordeal began at the hour of the owl, continued as the sun rose over the horizon casting blue light into the room. The maester muttered under his breath, the old man’s composure ground to bits by the Lady Lannister who insisted both he and Myrcella be present for the births.

The labor pushed on relentlessly. Brienne bit her lip to bleeding before yielding, finally wailing in agony as each wave of suffering passed through her. Jaime huddled at her side, squeezing her fingers, rubbing the small of her back when she bent double in despair. He could not think, could not focus beyond the small space that he and his wife occupied, trying to will his strength into her trembling frame. Time passed in a blur, measured by the coming and going of pain rather than minutes and hours.

Shortly after daybreak Tommen and Podrick showed up, slinking down the wall just outside their chamber door, crouched like mice. The maester set to shoo them away, his wife caught his wrist, gesticulated fiercely between moans and gasps, willing the boys to stay. If Tommen took Pod’s hand when the cries became hard to stomach, Jaime would never tell, he could hardly blame the lad.

He was lost in the repetition_—scream—clench—stop—breathe—_not noticing for several minutes how the space went quiet, how Brienne’s hand burned, her skin scalding beneath his lips. She turned to him silently, eyes aflame like the stars of her sigil, a tranquil look on her face. The air crackled, as one the room’s occupants sought her out, transfixed by the power she radiated. “Not long now my son.” Jaime stared at the _Warrior_, bowing his head beneath the god’s heavy gaze. “Your woman is mighty, she will not falter.” Fingers squeezed his, strong and hot.

“Th-thank you for blessing her…for blessing us.” He stumbled over the words, for once at a loss. The god nodded, smiled once more, the glow fading from his wife’s eyes until they were blue skies once more.

“Oh.” She shifted uncomfortably, instinctively sliding to her back. “I think I need to…” Her breath caught as her body tightened.

The old maester parted her knees, huffing and humming with encouragement. “Time to push Lady Brienne…I see a golden head.”

Time stretched, then quickened. Brienne’s puffs and groans coming faster now, writhing and rocking to a rapid tempo as she struggled to bring their boys into the world. When the old man lifted the first wailing bundle, Jaime kissed her broken lips, stroked her sodden hair, breathing words into her mouth. “Halfway Brienne…halfway there. I love you.” She tilted her chin to meet his lips, but was too winded for words, gritting her teeth and pressing on, pausing to growl when the maester moved to hand the babe to a wet nurse.

_“NO!”_ All eyes shifted to her, gaze flaming once more. “His father will hold him first…and I will feed him.” The old man fumbled and fussed, hastily bundling the infant, thrusting him into Jaime’s waiting arms.

_I am holding my son._

Jaime grinned like an idiot. Perfect little fists flailed in the cold,  
long legs stretching unencumbered into the new emptiness, as eyes like storm clouds blinked, unseeing. He bent to kiss him, running his hand over the head of white fuzz. “You are your mother’s son…my brave knight…” Brienne looked up, sweaty and dazed, her anguished expression lightening as she saw their infant. “Dayne?” She grinned and nodded, then clenched with pain, the old maester charging her to push again.

“Tommen…Podrick…come meet your brother Dayne.” The boys rushed into the room, Galladon trailing behind them. Jaime carefully placed the wiggling babe in his uncle’s arms. “Introduce him to his grandfather.” Selwyn peeked around the doorframe from his post in the hallway.

When he turned back Brienne was straining forward, her face red as she leaned into the pressure, embracing the pain. In moments it was over, a second child with hair like the sun and golden skin to match placed in his daughter’s trembling arms. Myrcella walked toward Jaime, emerald eyes glistening with unshed tears, leaning forward to touch her nose to the little one she cradled.

Jaime wrapped his arms around Myrcella, stroking the babe’s feet as it whimpered in displeasure. “This strapping fellow is Johann. We named him after your grandmother.” His wife was stretched out in exhaustion, gazing at him with sleepy eyes, her soft smile so rare he paused to soak it in.

Myrcella snuffled, the tears falling in earnest now. “That’s a good name…_father._” Voice lowered, she met his eyes over her shoulder, searching for disapprobation and finding none. “Grandfather will approve.” He ran his hand over her golden curls, the radiance of her smile so like Cersei that he ached and recoiled in equal measure. Reminding himself once more that Myrcella was not his sweet sister.

“Come…let us reacquaint the boys with their mother.” Brienne dozed as the maester continued his ministrations. Jaime stared at the blood pooled on the foot of the bed, coating his wife’s legs, shaking he took in her pale, clammy skin. The old man looked up with a _“tsk”_, clicking his tongue at Jaime’s growing panic.

“There is nothing amiss here my Lord, only the expected complications of a long and strenuous delivery. Your Lady will be weak as a babe herself for a few days. Feed her, make her drink water, let her rest.” He stood and ran a gentle hand through Brienne’s hair, too weak for words she thanked him with her eyes. “You are a great warrior…a glorious chosen one. I can only imagine how wonderful you will be as a mother.” He exited quietly, promising to check on her in a few hours.

Jaime knelt beside the bed, head resting on Brienne’s chest, he gazed into her drowsy face. She was so fair, her eyes deep, dark pools against white cheeks. Lips swollen and red from the twist of her teeth. Selwyn tucked Dayne into one long arm, leaning down to kiss his daughter’s forehead and whisper words of praise. Myrcella placed Johann in the crook of the other, the babe instantly rooting at his wife’s flushed skin. She looked upon their children with such joy, eyes flitting from one to the other, memorizing the tiny features. Jaime understood the feeling. He stared, burning the image of Brienne cradling their newborn sons into his mind, hoping that when the _Stranger _finally claimed him, he could find his way back to this moment.

“Jaime…oh Jaime look what we have done.” His lip trembled, unable to answer her with words, he burrowed his face in her skin, kissing every spot that he could reach.

The bonfire crackled, mixing with the crash of the ocean and the gull cry to lull Jaime into reverie, thoughts drifting to a long ago campfire and the feel of broad shoulders beside him, warm fingers twined with his. If pressed he still could not say what made him pause that night, sit by the scowling wench, hold her hand. Maybe her words at the tower reached some part of him that wanted to be more, or the light in her eyes drew him in like a moth to a flame. More likely the _Mother_ was pushing him to her, guiding his steps. If so, he owed her his thanks.

Brienne stood silhouetted by the fire, Dayne on her hip, the boy more concerned with teething at the hem of his mother’s tunic than his first name day celebration. He pulled the fabric tight and Jaime could just make out the slight bulge of his wife’s stomach. It was early on, a secret for just the two of them, but that didn’t stop Jaime from showering it with little kisses whenever they were alone.

Podrick and Tommen spent the afternoon splashing in the waves, moving ashore as the sun sank red over the horizon. Brandishing wooden swords with glee, they practiced the movements he and Galladon had taught them. Podrick was remarkably strong for his size, diligent and thoughtful, and his loyalty to Brienne knew no bounds. Jaime was sure he would grow into an excellent swordsman someday, a great man.

_And then there’s Tommen._

Jaime stared long minutes at his son, watching him thrust with long sure strides, parry and block with uncanny accuracy. Tommen was a different creature altogether from the boy Jaime imagined him to be. He had thought his son soft, not suited for the art of war, and in truth he worried what kind of king he might one day become. He was happy to realize all his fears were unfounded. His son was astounding, a natural leader, a gifted fighter. He was clever and kind, spoke with servants and nobility as if they were equals, hardly ever used his title to advantage and when he did it was usually to make someone else’s load lighter. All those years his empathy had been seen as weakness. Jaime wondered what would have happened to his son if Brienne had not come to save them all.

Tommen’s footwork sped up, anticipating Pod’s movements before he made them, raining a flurry of strikes until the other boy’s practice sword tumbled to the sand. He fought like a man twice his age, unprecedented in his skill, sure to outshine Jaime in his prime. He was grinning with pride when Brienne moved to sit beside him, Dayne asleep in her arms, she followed his gaze.

“He is a remarkable fighter. Agile, strong…like his father.” She nudged his knee with hers, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

“Like his aunt…stepmother?” Leaning in he kissed her ear. “What exactly are my children calling you now?”

_“Mother.”_ She stroked Dayne’s hair, silver in the rising moonlight. “They call me mother.” She turned to Jaime with worried eyes. “I can never take her place…but if it brings them some peace…I hope you do not mind.” Biting her lip she looked at the sleeping boy in her arms. _So beautiful. In this light she is beautiful._

“In the last year they have known more love…_real_ love…than most people ever find. I would not deny them the happiness of claiming you as their own.” He took her hand in his and she sighed, releasing a tension he had not known she carried. Turing her hand, he threaded their fingers. _Back where we started._

Selwyn and Myrcella sat across the fire, giggling and cooing at Johann as he used his grandfather’s fingers to pull upright, testing his legs in the sand. His daughter had charmed Selwyn from the start, although he felt certain the feeling was mutual. She spent hours in his study learning how he kept the ledgers, the ins and outs of running the keep, wanting to be helpful. He was sure that was part of her motivation, but Jaime suspected she was avoiding her septa. He assumed Myrcella enjoyed the womanly arts, so it came as a surprise that they were no more appealing to his daughter than they had been for his wife. Her quick mind more suited to numbers and scholarly pursuits. When he broached the subject with Brienne she raised her eyebrows but said nothing, the thoughts spinning behind her scowling facade.

Jaime looked up to see Galladon loping across the dunes, his armor abandoned after finishing his duties at the keep, a large package tucked under his arm. He clapped Selwyn on the back, and leaned down to kiss Johann before stumbling down the slope to the boys on the beach. Looking back at Myrcella with a wink and a grin. “I have presents for you two.” Pod and Tommen came running at the sound of his voice.

“But it’s not _our_ name day.” Podrick eyed the package greedily even as he protested its giving. They had realized a few moons prior that Pod did not know his name day, having been passed from one shoddy keeper to another, with no record of his birth. That was when Tommen insisted they share one.

“Well, since the twins are too young to appreciate a present, and you both have been practicing so hard, I got you each one instead.” He laid the package on the ground and unwrapped two swords, handing the first to Tommen. “Happy _not-your-name-day_ Your Grace.” It was a beautiful weapon, with a fine blade and a large polished chunk of obsidian embedded in the pommel. Galladon pointed to the stone. “They call that dragon glass. It’s supposed to have magic in it.” The boy flipped it back and forth, looking at the sigils on the hilt, stag then lion, fashioned in gold. Jaime watched his son’s face light up, looked to Galladon who seemed just as happy as Tommen.

_Galladon gifts like a Lannister._ For some reason that thought made Jaime guffaw with glee.

Next the young man produced a similar sized blade, also fine, with a silver hilt and a sapphire pommel. Pod handled the blade gingerly, as if it might disappear, running his fingers over the sigils. _Sun and moon. Lion._ Eyes watering as he caressed the symbols of his two houses. “Happy _not-your-name-day_ to you as well little brother.” Podrick rushed to Galladon, throwing his arms around his waist and pressing his head to his chest. Jaime knew Brienne’s brother was a good soldier, an honorable man, but in that moment he saw his soul shining as bright and pure as his sister.

The boys ran off to try out their new blades, assuring Galladon that they would not hurt themselves, the young man strode back to Myrcella, flopping down beside her on the sand. Jaime glanced sideways at the two of them, sitting close but comfortable, the shadow of a smile pulling at his daughter’s lips.

“It looks like fun.” She was watching them spar, every once in a while sparks flying in the dark as the blades struck just right.

Jaime suddenly realized he had never offered to teach Myrcella to fight. She had always seemed so content to be a princess, to sew and sing and play the courtly young lady. Only recently he discerned that her pursuits may have been dictated and not by choice. Cersei treated Myrcella like a doll, something to dress and pose, and when it suited had promised their daughter’s life to the darkness. Jaime never thought to question the person _she_ wanted to be, how _she_ wanted to live. He opened his mouth to ask, offer to train her if that was what she desired.

“I could teach you.” Galladon’s low voice cut through the silence, rumbling over the waves. “That is…if you want to learn.” He bit his lip nervously, the motion so like his sister that Jaime couldn’t help staring.

“I don’t know if I would like it…I might be awkward at first. Tommen would embarrass me.” His daughter looked pensive, considering the offer. Jaime did not recognize her, so different from her mother, vulnerable and serious. After a moment her eyes lit up, sparkling in the moonlight. “Would you really do that? Train me…like the boys?”

“Of course I would Princess.” Galladon was grinning now, gaining confidence from her enthusiasm. “I would have a sword made for you as well…if you want one.”

Myrcella clapped her hands with glee, pulling her knees to her chest and rocking back and forth as she looked at the stars. “The hilts are pretty…almost jewelry.” Galladon rolled his eyes at that, the girl poked him in the ribs to stop his teasing. “What would it look like…my sword?”

Galladon folded his arms behind his head, gazing up at the same stars. “Something beautiful, light but fierce…with a stag and a lion on the hilt and an emerald for the pommel…the biggest one I can afford. One that sparkles like your eyes.” Jaime jerked forward at that, legs flexing to stand, until Brienne tightened her grip on his hand, holding him in place with her stare.

“Hmmm…that sounds lovely. Except…” She paused, considering her words, and when she spoke her voice seemed lower, held a silky quality that made Jaime grind his teeth. “No stag.” Galladon jerked his head, straining to see through the dark, brows raised in question. “Why pretend a loyalty that I do not feel? I would much rather have a sun and moon…the sign of the other house I love…_your_ house.” The young man smiled at her then, a look so familiar that Jaime’s breath caught in his chest.

_Galladon looks at Myrcella the way Brienne looks at me._

His eyes held the same devotion, the same look of awe, as if he had captured a star and did not understand why or how. Jaime turned to his wife, finding no surprise in her expression, only patience.

“And I would like a sapphire instead of an emerald…to remind me of you.” Myrcella giggled, a gesture of her youth, and Galladon chuckled in reply. Looking once more like the reserved young man Jaime knew.

“As you wish Princess…as you wish.” They turned back to the sky, sitting together in companionable silence.

Later that night, after the twins were asleep, Jaime pulled Brienne close. “Did you know?” There was no need to elaborate, his wife knew what troubled him.

She nodded against his chest, stroked his shoulder. “I suspected. He is her best friend, _nothing more._ But I have seen the way they gravitate toward each other. ” Brienne took his face in both hands, kissing his forehead. “She is ten and four. Within the year offers of marriage will start arriving, and all our protests will not stop them. Myrcella is beautiful, a princess from a powerful house. Her grandfather will use her to make a profitable match. _If_ her choice is Galladon…is it not better that _she_ decide?”

Jaime whined, tangling his hands in her hair and binding her to him. He grieved that his daughter was something to barter, a Cyvasse piece to be moved around at will.

_She is so young._

The rash choices of his youth were a skin he could never shed, coloring how the world viewed him. He did not want his daughter to bear the same regret. “Brienne…I can’t let her make my mistakes.”

“Jaime it is not the same. Myrcella is not you. Galladon is not Cersei. He would never dishonor her… never ask more than she is willing to give. He will wait patiently while she decides, and if he loves her…” She stared into his eyes, slid her mouth to his, tugging his lip between her teeth. He could feel her heart flutter against his chest, her breath heating as she slid her arms around his neck drawing him in. “If he loves her…he would die for her.”

_He would live for her._

His goodfather’s words echoed in his head, reverberated in his heart, the truth of it undeniable. That was how they loved, Selwyn and his children. Fiercely loyal, holding no part of themselves back, with a quiet passion that would burn normal men to ashes. The sons of the _Warrior_ were made of sterner stuff. _Galladon is like Brienne._

A life on Tarth, spent in the arms of a man who loves with the same fiery devotion as his wife. Perhaps Myrcella was the smartest Lannister after all.

_She is still too young._

** **

“It’s a lot at once, don’t you think?” Tommen paced Selwyn’s solar, wearing a path between the desk and the doors to the balcony, occasionally circling to the edge overlooking the water before starting the circuit again. “A wedding and ascending to the throne in the span of a few days…it seems too much.” He was working his hands and pulling at his tunic, as nervous as Brienne had ever seen him. The letter from Tywin had arrived without fanfare, Sansa Stark had accepted his offer of marriage. They would wed first, a spectacle fit for a king, followed by a second ceremony within the week crowning them both. “Myrcella remains unwed, and she is older. Why must I marry _now?_”

Brienne sighed, this was a conversation they had shared several times, the answer was not changing with repetition. “We have talked about this Tommen, it is expected that the King marry first. Myrcella and Galladon will have their day…once you and Sansa are settled.”

Brienne felt only a twinge of guilt at his discomfort. She had told no one of the raven from Catelyn questioning the character of the King, asking her opinion of the match. It had been easy to reply, stating that Tommen was the best of young men, honorable and brave, with a kind heart and gentle demeanor. Impulsively ending her correspondence with _“Love can be built. He will be her Ned.”_ The reply came quickly, Lady Stark trusted her guidance, the betrothal would go forward.

Tommen had grown into a large man, at ten and six he matched Jaime in height if not breadth. It was only a matter of time until he grew into his frame. Brienne thought of how imposing he would be then, once the strength of his body equaled his skill with a blade and quick mind. Just now he resembled a scared little boy, trying to decide whether becoming king or taking a wife was the more terrifying prospect. “What if she does not like me?” His voice broke slightly, he cleared his throat to hide the worry.

Brienne held Letta in her lap, trying fruitlessly to settle the toddler into an afternoon nap. “Well…whose advice would you like on the matter? The Lord Regent would say it does not matter if she likes you or not, you are king and she is obliged to adore you either way.”

He crinkled his nose in distaste, coming to stand before her and scuffing his boots on the carpet. “Gods…that sounds dreadful. I prefer open distain to false adoration.” He sat at her feet, looking ten and one again. “What would you say mother?”

She resisted the urge to lean forward and run her fingers through his thick gold hair, chastising herself that Tommen was a man grown, her king. “I would remind you that Sansa is a girl, a little older perhaps, but no better accustomed to courtly life than you. The capital is a long way from Winterfell, she will miss her family…her home…and will need a friend more than a monarch. Court her…woo her…make her feel wanted and safe. Pledge yourself to her happiness and allow her time to discover the wonderful man she is bound to.” He leaned back, resting his head against her knee, her resistance faltered as she gingerly fingered his curls.

“I don’t know how to be a husband.” His voice was hushed, sharing a secret. “I’ve never…” Blushing he stared at the floor, the thought catching in his throat.

Brienne was glad the young man was facing away as the pink rose from beneath her tunic, coloring her cheeks. The _Seven_ once again showing their wicked humor as the King of Westeros came to _her_ for advice on intimate relations. If Jaime found out she would have no peace from his unrelenting teasing. “Tommen you do know…I mean…” _Gods deliver me._ “…someone has told you how men and women…” He nodded furiously, cutting off her explanation, she sighed in relief.

“I know _what_ I need to do…but I have no clue how to start. She is a stranger, and everyone will expect a bedding. I do not want to embarrass myself or the Lady…or to disappoint her…” Brienne smiled, proud of her son for the concern he was already showing for his bride to be. She had not led Catelyn astray, they would find happiness.

“Neither your father nor I will allow a bedding ceremony. Sansa is highborn and your queen…we will not have her teats on display for the kingdom.” She felt him relax against her, some of the fear draining from his long frame. “As for the wedding night…only you and she will know what happens behind closed doors. This union serves the whole kingdom, it profits no one to question its validity.” He turned and raised a brow, understanding in his green eyes. “Take your time…hold hands, share kisses and secrets…the rest will come.”

“Is that how father charmed you?” She and Jaime had not spoken with the children of their journey from Winterfell, afraid that explaining the origin of their love would inevitably darken Cersei’s memory.

“Your father was a friend when I desperately needed one, my protector when I was too naive to see the danger. He held me gently…like something fragile. Jaime touched me with reverence, showed me how precious I was to him.” Brienne closed her eyes, still feeling his warmth pressed into her on the cold ground, hands trembling against her back as he pulled her close that first night, both terrified of what was happening between them. “Treat Sansa like a treasure to be guarded, that is how your father won my heart.”

Tommen took her hand, pressed a kiss into her knuckles. “Thank you mother.” Tears filled Brienne’s eyes, _thank you Mother indeed._

** **

They arrived in King’s Landing relatively unannounced, returning in the same unmarked vessels that they departed in. A few days before sailing, Podrick informed her that he would be staying with Tommen in the capital. The decision shook Brienne, her grief at letting one son go now doubled.

“_Why?_ You told me once that your destiny was here…with me. The _Warrior_ needs you…I need you. Pod…please do not leave.” She knew she was being selfish, but the thought of losing him made her words reckless.

Tears fell from his soft brown eyes, fat drops slipping silently between full lashes, dripping from his chin. “I do not _want_ to leave Brienne.” Unlike the other children he did not call her mother, Pod had uttered her name with such love for so many years, neither wished to change it. “It is the _Warrior_ who sends me to the capital. I have seen visions…a queen of fire and ash in the east…a king of ice and death in the north. Tommen will need me.” He shook with grief, torn between despair and duty. Brienne pulled him into her arms, smoothing his unruly mane.

“I will visit you…as often as I can. We will not be apart long. You hold a piece of my heart Podrick Payne, I am always with you.” With sadness she helped him pack, knowing better than most the price of serving a god.

The trip passed smoothly, and one sunny afternoon they descended upon the capital en masse, Lannisters and Tarths, a horde of red and blue. Galladon insisting that he guard Tommen through the ceremonies, Selwyn refusing to miss his grandson’s wedding. At five years, Dayne and Johann rivaled boys twice their age, striding ashore with swords at their waists, Dayne looking thoughtful, Johann with a grin. Jaime carried Letta ashore, not trusting that she would stick to the gangplank, the lure of the waves too tempting for their island babe.

Tywin and Tyrion Lannister waited with hands folded on the pier, the kingsguard amassed at their backs. Myrcella and Tommen rushed forward to greet their grandfather, as he perched like a hawk, quietly assessing his kin. Myrcella was vibrant and beautiful, the dark cloud of loss burned away in the bright Tarth sun. Tommen strode ashore, powerful and silent, in every way the king he was expected to become. The elder Lannister’s glinting eyes moved to the twins, lingering over their strong, sure bodies, their easy confidence. Finally settling on Letta, a squirming mass of golden curls and pink cheeks, with eyes that shifted blue to green with her mood. Meeting Brienne’s gaze, he quickly concealed a look of astonished happiness, nodding in acknowledgement. Pressing her lips tight she bobbed once in reply, her end of the bargain fulfilled, his legacy flourished.

Tyrion Lannister laughed, clapping his hands with joy as Jaime approached, affection in his eyes. “Brother! I see you have found your clan at last. Very tall…very blonde.” Brienne chuckled, drawing his attention. “Gods you are big.” He stared up at her, oozing mischief as he waited her reply. She had never met the man, he stayed in King’s Landing whenever Tywin visited, guarding the throne. But she knew from Jaime that he responded best to humor.

“And you are a sweet little fellow.” Bending double she playfully kissed the top of his head, he swatted at her with both hands, releasing a barking guffaw.

“Control your wife Jaime, she is manhandling me.” He grasped her fingers, dragging her toward the waiting carriages, talking excitedly of the preparations he had made for the impending celebrations.

The wedding ceremony was perfect. Despite her general dislike of such affairs, Brienne had to admit, it was lovely in every way. Sansa looked radiant in a gown of dawn grey with golden flourishes, wolves chasing lions in an endless circle on the hem. Tommen somehow looked both proud and bashful, his honest expression winning the favor of his new family and the court alike. At the feast she danced with Jaime, under protest, secretly reveling in the feel of his hands on her waist, the jealous stares as he pulled her scandalously close and nipped at her neck.

The day of the coronation approached quickly, and Tommen seemed more restless than ever, cajoling her or Jaime into sparring two and three times a day, needing an outlet for his heated energy. He seemed distracted, on edge, only calm when surrounded by family or with his bride. Sansa, thankfully, seemed to have a soothing effect on the young man. Brienne took that as a sign that they were both content in the union.

They waited together outside the large wooden doors, the great hall transformed into a makeshift sept, repairs on the structure delayed by smoldering wildfire. Tommen and Sansa held hands, Galladon on one side of the couple, Ned Stark on the other, both men armed and armored. Brienne and Jaime trailed behind, protecting their backs. The King fidgeted, repeatedly wiping his brow, sweat marks staining his fine clothes. He looked pale and shaky, shifting back and forth like a horse prancing, ready to break and run.

“Tommen, Your Grace, are you alright?” She whispered it in his ear, not wanting to embarrass him in front of his new goodfather.

“I’m not sure, I feel…odd. Hot…burning…like my insides are squirming. I need to…” He stared into the distance, listening to something only he could hear. “Lady Brienne, would you accompany me to the altar of the _Warrior?_ I should like to pray before the ceremony.” He turned to her with eyes like his father, their smooth surface concealing tumultuous currents. _He is afraid._

“Of course your majesty.” She offered her arm and he seemed grateful, slipping quietly into the great hall behind the gathering crowd. In the back corner was a temporary altar, the statue of the _Warrior_ rescued from the wreckage of the Sept watching silently over the coronation. Tommen drew his sword, the gift from Galladon, and kneeled. Brienne mimicked his motions, laying _Maiden Fair_ at her side. __

_ _“Mother…what do I say?” He looked to her with pleading eyes._ _

_ _“Just speak what is in your heart. He will understand.” She placed a comforting hand on his back, could feel the heat pouring off him._ _

“_Warrior_…please bless my reign. Mould me into the king my people need…brave and honorable…honest and kind. Grant me your strength, your fierce heart, your cunning mind. Guide my sword to strike true, make my conscience accountable for my actions, strengthen me when fighting for those who are weak. These are treacherous times, a solid foundation starts with one unmovable stone. Let me be that anchor for my kingdom.” He shook as he spoke, the truth of his plea vibrating through him, extending his hands, he offered his sword. “Take it _Warrior,_ I am yours.”

_“Tommen!”_ Brienne gasped, feeling the power flare within her, crying out as it flowed from her fingertips into him. _Oh gods I should have known, should have seen the signs._ The King bent double, shrieking in pain as his skin burned, wrists sizzling as the brand of the _Warrior_ was scorched into his flesh. Tommen turned to her, his face a grimace, white hot eyes reflecting the fire consuming his soul. He held fast to his sword, keeping it aloft as it steamed and glowed, his offer accepted.

Later, when Tommen had been carried off by her father and Galladon, to be tended through his change in the way that only her order knew, she found Podrick’s eyes in the crowd. Sad and knowing, the weight of the future in those liquid depths. Brienne went to him, pulled him close as he mumbled _“I’m sorry”_ over and over.

Jaime picked through the rubble of the Sept, making his way toward the altar of the _Mother_. His wife stood beneath the broken statue, looking up at the face which was remarkably spared. Not broken. Not burned.

“Podrick told me you were here.” Brienne turned with a soft smile. She looked younger somehow, less stern, gentle. The _Warrior’s _absence only noticeable to the two of them, yet he felt it in her embrace. Moving to stand behind her, he wrapped strong arms around her middle, struck once more by how they fit together, perfectly matched, his head tucked into the bend of her neck. He followed her gaze. “Do you think _she_ is happy with us?” Brienne huffed, took his hand in hers and placed them over her belly, Jaime grinned against her skin.

“I do not see _how_ we could be more devout followers.” He chuckled, and she joined in, glad to bring joy to this haunted space. “I almost died _there_.” She motioned behind her, and he stared at the spot. Remembering her standing in the center of the storm, slashing at the darkness as it tore holes in her flesh and battered her black and blue. “And you _there_.” She nodded in front, he could still make out the scorch marks on the floor, the dark brown stains of his twin’s blood. He looked down at the scars, his arm ached with the memory.

“We are alive. We are safe.” He kissed her neck, pressing reassurances into her skin, stroking soft circles across her stomach.

“For now.” The worry in her voice pulled at his heart, he would take her away from all this, if only she would let him. “How is Tommen?”

“Out of the ice vat, thank the gods. His lips were so blue, I was afraid for his other kingly parts.” His wife snickered despite herself.

“I will stay until he can control it.” Jaime listened for the longing in her voice, but heard none.

“Do you miss it?” He had wanted to ask, but thought it too soon. She seemed at peace now.

“No. The _Warrior_ is still here…still with me, guiding me, but…more _quiet_ with his direction. I can hear other voices now, the _Mother_ calls to me, with a voice equal to the _Warrior._ I am _their_ child now.” She turned in his arms, taking his face in her hands. “As are you…they _both_ claim you.” She paused looking deep into his eyes. “There is a war coming Jaime, the _Void_ grows in the north, we are needed.”

He pressed his lips to hers, lingering on their soft warmth, letting her strength flow into him. “Then I shall train with you every day, love you every night, and be ready when called.” He stroked her hair, whispering in her ear. “You told me once that you were not my salvation…it was a lie.” She shivered beneath his warm breath.

“And you told me you were not an honorable man. We are both quite dishonest.” She pressed her lips to his once again, spoke against his mouth. “My protector.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One small epilogue to go, I hope you enjoy. Thank you to everyone who read this, I appreciate your support and feedback so much.
> 
> Thank you to Ro for encouraging me to do this and being such a faithful friend.
> 
> Thank you to Jamie for your honest opinions and relentless enthusiasm. I am so glad this story led me to your friendship.
> 
> Thank you to Madelyn for your attention to detail, your thoughtful feedback and your funny observations. I am so glad I emailed you, I am happy to call you friend.
> 
> Thank you to Sari for your brilliant observations and for always calling me back to character when I run astray. I value your friendship.
> 
> Thank you to Meriwyn for reading at crazy times, for being so supportive and kind. I appreciate you.
> 
> Please leave me a comment, tell me what you thought. And if you have ideas for a next story, let me know. I can be found on Tumblr as well @ilikeblue. It's been fun.


	18. Epilogue

In the eternity before time existed.

Powerful.

Silent.

_The Void…_

Nothingness that existed before existence, emptiness that called forth everything. Needing and despising, creation for the sake of consumption, eater of lives. Chaos and madness. Lust and greed. _Want and want and want._

_Alone, always alone, always wanting._

It drew the gods from the ether. Namer. Enslaver. Creator and jailer. Alone no more, but empty still.

_Father_ and _Mother. Warrior_ and _Maiden. Stranger_ and _Smith_ and _Crone._ Huddled in the nothingness, bound by darkness, together yet lost.

_“We will create our salvation.”_ They whispered, they schemed.

Man was born of their despair, their petulance, their powerless power.

The _Warrior_ called forth the first men, dipped them in his light, spurred them to fight and fuck and ravage in his name.

A _Chosen One_ filled with _Warrior’s_ fire, born to part the darkness, to challenge the _Void._ Children in the battle of giants. Lambs to slaughter.

_Battle and battle and battle until nothing is left._

The _Mother_ was shrewd. The _Mother_ was cautious. She watched. She waited. Planted her seeds with care. Small flames, building flames, flickering in the dark, lighting their hearts, fueling their souls.

_Life creators. Peace makers._ Eating away at the darkness one gulp at a time.

The darkness changed, adapted, evolved. Kings and Queens. Leaders of men with rot in their souls. A lust for carnage, a need to chew on the bones of their brethren.

The children of the _Warrior_ became wise, learned the whispers on the wind, read the signs, saw beyond the veil of time.

A Queen will take flight with fire in her heart and covet in her soul.

_The Void_

_Madness bringer, warmonger, dragonrider. Liar. Corrupter. Chaos and cruelty._

A King will rise with ice for blood, and death on his breath.

Wights and Wraiths. Dragons and Ice Spiders. Demons with frosty eyes and frozen hearts. Monsters of legends forgotten, of prophecies hidden in tomes in the Citadel.

_The Void._

_Death bringer. Corpse raiser. Walker from beyond the wall. World eater._

The _Mother _whispered, the _Warrior_ listened. Alone they would fail, alone they would fall. _The Seven as One._ Child of the _Mother._ Child of the _Warrior._ Claiming the other as equal, as lover. An enchantment binding them, a magic in the mixing. Strength from darkness, light where there was none.

The _Mother_ whispered, the children listened. Written in sacred texts, hidden in riddle. A secret guarded by the children of the _Warrior._

A warrior would rise. A leader of men, fire in his veins, a Lion’s heart. Born of the _Mother._ Claimed by the _Warrior._ A kernel of light sowed in a field of darkness. One who swam in the emptiness, tasted the _Void._ Only he can defeat it.

Blood that burns blue, blade that scorches shadow. Only he can destroy the Night King, end the endless winter, push back the _Void._

Child of the _Mother_ with steady flame. Child of the _Warrior_ with relentless fury.

_Azor Ahai, Lightbringer, the Prince that was promised._

_Azor Ahai, The King who was Chosen._


End file.
